


Cold

by RealName



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys In Love, Come of age, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, Love Triangle, M/M, Minister's Son, Pining, Protective Harry, Religion, Religious Louis, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 87,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealName/pseuds/RealName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles hated the minister's son.</p><p>Louis Tomlinson was brash, obnoxious and possessed all the attributes that Harry deemed unlikable in another person. Unfortunately, they attended the same Bible studies class at church and their mothers were best friends, so avoiding the other boy was impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I don't quite know how I ended up writing this, but I find Larry fascinating, so I couldn't help but be inspired. The premise of this fic is based on the song Take Me to Church by Hozier. Also, this is an Alternate Universe, so I've taken some liberties. Artistic license and all that. 
> 
> Warnings: The first few chapters of this story outline the progression of Harry and Louis' relationship from childhood into adulthood. That means that some scenes will involve minors, ages 11-13. I don't intend to sugarcoat some of the things that are talked about by children in this age group, so fair warning. Also, I've created an original character to play the role of Louis' stepfather, because I didn't want to include a real person for that particular role. Anne is a single mother. Angst. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction, nor any of the people involved in this story. It is a piece of fiction.

Cold

Harry Styles hated the minister's son. 

Louis Tomlinson was brash, obnoxious and possessed all the attributes that Harry deemed unlikable in another person. Unfortunately, they attended the same Bible studies class at church and their mothers were best friends, so avoiding the other boy was impossible. 

“Oi, Curly, you think I'm stupid? _Vacuous_ isn't a word,” Louis said, sitting on the floor in a cross-legged position, his eyes scanning the Scrabble board with undisguised suspicion. 

“It _is_ a word,” Harry sighed. 

“Well, what does it mean then?” Louis asked. 

“It means empty,” Harry supplied, “or lacking thought.” 

Louis peered up from behind a fringe of long, curled eyelashes and blinked slowly, then turned back to the board. Harry resisted the urge to prove the word's legitimacy by using it in a sentence related to Louis' head. 

“All right, I'll let you have it this time,” Louis said, as if it were a kindness he was bestowing, “but next time stick to real words.” 

“It _is_ a real word!” Harry insisted, trying not to let Louis' attempts to rile him up work. 

Louis always knew exactly what the say to get under Harry's skin, and Harry was powerless to defend himself against Louis' viperous tongue if he dared fight back. 

“All right, keep your hair on Curly, I said I'll give it to you,” Louis said. 

Harry huffed, but said nothing as the older boy picked out letters from his display case and propped them haphazardly on the board. Harry wanted to reach out and tidy them into a neat rows. 

“There,” Louis said, proudly, “I win.” 

Louis had spelt the word 'dizzying _'_ over a triple word score and automatically won the game. Harry simply rolled his eyes and stood up, as Louis proceeded to unabashedly gloat about his victory. 

“See, that's the problem with you, Curly,” Louis said, sweeping a hand through his fringe, “you know all these big, fancy words, but you don't know how to use them.” 

Harry wrinkled his nose, but made no attempt to argue back. 

It was an exhausting experience, trying to argue with Louis Tomlinson. A fact that simply added to the long list of reasons why Harry couldn't stand him. Harry wondered how long it would be before he got to go home and escape from the prison that was Louis' bedroom. Better yet, he wondered how much longer he'd have to wait until he was old enough to make his own decisions and stop interacting with Louis altogether. Harry was eleven years old now, maybe when he turned twelve he would be able to stay home. Then again, Louis was thirteen and _he_ didn't seem to have much choice in the matter either, so maybe Harry was hoping for too much. 

Louis walked over to his bed and stretched his small body out on the grey, cotton sheets, his red-striped t-shirt riding up slightly to reveal a tanned sliver of torso. Harry stood at the other side of the room, scuffing his shoes on the wooden floorboards. He watched as the sun spilt in through the window above Louis' bed, highlighting one side of his face. 

Louis seemed to be counting down the minutes until Harry left too. 

“I guess being a massive swot will come in handy for you soon enough,” Louis said, idly scratching the smooth skin of his arm, “since you're starting secondary school tomorrow an' all that.” 

Harry's heart gave a tiny thump in his chest. 

God, he didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he'd soon have to face Louis in the hallways of Halls Cross High School on a daily basis, as well as in church on Sundays. Harry looked up to meet Louis' eyes, and Louis was looking at him with a smirk playing on his lips. As if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. As if to say ' _I am going to make your life Hell'_. 

“You're going to be a right teacher's pet,” Louis said, cruelly, “I can see it now, you'll have your hand up before the question's even been asked.” 

Harry tried to hide behind the fringe of his hair, bit it was significantly more difficult since his mother insisted he get it cut for starting secondary school. Louis turned and sat up on the bed, peering at the younger boy with a raised eyebrow, as if waiting for any kind of response. 

“God Curly, you look petrified,” Louis said, on the brink of cackling, “come here, sit down.” 

Louis reached out and patted the empty space on the bed beside him. After a moment of hesitation, Harry quietly walked over and sat down, feeling the springs give way under his body. Louis peered up at Harry, elbows propped on his knees and chin resting in his hands. 

“Come on then.” Louis said. “Ask me anything. What do you want to know about starting high school?” 

Harry turned to look at Louis, searching for any signs that the boy was using this as an opportunity to humiliate him. However, when he looked at Louis' tanned, slightly freckled face, he saw a sincerity that was rare and a little unsettling. 

“Really?” Harry asked, not quite believing it. 

“Really.” 

“OK,” he said, hesitantly, “well, what do you think's important to know?” 

“Well,” Louis said, pursing his lips in thought, “first of all, you definitely need to look less terrified. It's a high school, not a borstal.” 

Harry immediately morphed his face into a slightly pained grin, an attempt to mask his terror. Louis grimaced, 

“Eh, I said look _less_ terrified, not look _terrifying.”_

Harry frowned. He couldn't do anything right by Louis' standards. 

“Second,” Louis said, counting off each point on his fingers, “you'll need to make friends. This is _non-negotiable_. I would say don't make friends with nerds, but since you _are_ a nerd I guess that would be a little hypocritical. Just make friends.” 

“Hey!” Harry scolded, “I'm not a nerd!” 

Louis grinned. Harry wondered if winding him up was becoming a bit like a game to Louis. 

“Whatever you say, just make some friends.” 

Harry quietly repeated each point Louis made, as if to lock them into his memory. _Look less terrified, make friends_... 

“OK,” he said, “then what?” 

“Hmm...” 

Louis' gaze fell on the top of Harry's head, eyes pinpointing on the twisted curls that sat at various angles on the crown. Louis reached out and began to sweep his hands through the coils and waves, untangling them with his fingertips. Harry's eyes squinted shut as he let out a quiet gasp of surprise, 

  
“What are you _doing_?” he demanded. 

“I'm fixing your hair,” Louis said, artfully twisting strands with his nimble fingers, “the third thing you need to know is that if you want to make friends and be popular, you need to look good.” 

Louis pulled his hands from the curly strands and critically assessed his work. 

“Well?” Harry asked, suddenly terribly concerned about the appropriateness of his new look, “Does it look OK now?” 

“See for yourself,” Louis reached over to grab a small, hand-held mirror from his dresser drawer. 

Harry looked into the small, reflective surface and wrinkled his nose. In his opinion, he looked no different than he had before. 

“It looks the same,” he said. 

“Trust me, you look much better.” 

Louis said it with such confidence that Harry accepted it as fact. Still, he couldn't help but feel like he really didn't look much different. 

“Finally,” Louis said, his face taking a serious turn, “my last piece of advice...” 

Harry leaned forward, like he was about to hear the secrets of the universe itself. Louis' eyes twinkled under the undivided attention. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, a whisper. 

“Girls,” Louis said, simply. 

Harry leaned back and frowned. Girls? What kind of advice was that? 

“Girls?” 

“Yep,” Louis confirmed, “if you want to be popular and have friends and look good, you need to get a girlfriend. This is a _fact_. All my friends have girlfriends.” 

“Do _you_?” Harry asked, sceptically. 

“Well, no,” Louis admitted, “but it's different for me.” 

Harry raised his eyebrow. Louis' rules really weren't making much sense. 

“How is it different for you but not for anybody else?” 

“Because,” Louis sighed, like Harry was the most simple human he'd ever met, “I am biding my time. I can't just date _anyone_ , I'm waiting for the perfect girl!” 

This was all a bit too complicated for Harry to digest. He'd never really thought about girls at all until this point. Being in primary school, he had been led to believe by his friends that girls were cootie-carriersm and that one hug from them would surely bring about his sinful demise. Harry wondered how Louis came to be so educated about the ways of women when his stepfather spoke so candidly about the sins of the flesh. 

“Who is the perfect girl?” Harry asked. 

Louis looked out the window with a longing sigh, as though imitating some dramatic semblance of what he should be feeling. 

“Eleanor Calder,” Louis said. 

Eleanor was the daughter of a local dress-maker in Holmes Chapel. She was pretty, smart and had a bob of chestnut waves that skimmed her shoulders. Harry had seen her at church a few times, and she was always surrounded by a flock of admirers. He could see why boys thought she was pretty, with her delicate face and angelic voice as she sang from the choir pews, but in truth he had never thought about her in that way. Maybe he was still too young to appreciate girls just yet. 

If Louis' dopey, longing expression was any reflection of what liking girls would be like, Harry wasn't sure he wanted a girlfriend at all. 

“Eleanor's nice,” Harry nodded, “she has a lovely singing voice.” 

Louis scoffed, “A _lovely_ \-- Harold...she is more than just a lovely singing voice. She is an angel!” 

Harry rolled his eyes at the somewhat dramatic comparison. 

“Right,” Harry said, “and what makes you think she'd be interested in you?” 

Louis turned his head sharply towards the younger boy. Harry recoiled bashfully under the icy glare. 

“I mean...” he said, carefully picking his words, “how are you going to get her to notice you?” 

Louis eyes lit up, 

“Well, that's really quite simple,” he said, “I don't have to do anything. She already has noticed me, because I'm confident, I have nice hair and I have loads of friends. That's why you need to follow my rules if you want to get by in high school. I know what I'm talking about.” 

Harry and Louis looked at each other from across the bed for a long, quiet moment before there was a knock at the door. They both looked over in time to see the handle twist as a pale, heart-shaped face slid through the opened crease, 

“Harry, you ready to go, sweetheart?” Anne asked, her pink lips breaking into a smile, “Hope I wasn't interrupting your fun.” 

Harry looked at Louis, whose face had dropped into deep indifference. 

“You weren't” Harry said, standing to his feet, “I'm coming now.” 

“All right, I'll meet you downstairs,” she smiled, then disappeared from sight. 

Harry turned to Louis, who had diverted his attention to a book that he'd pulled from his bedside table. _The Great Gatsby._ When he realised he was going to get no farewell from the older boy, Harry turned and made his way towards the door. As he opened it and stood in the frame, he heard Louis' voice call from behind him, 

“Remember my advice.” 

Harry turned to face him, but Louis' eyes were fixed on his book. Without another word, Harry turned and made his way to the bottom of the stairs to meet his mother. 

-*- 

The next day, Harry stood in front of the bathroom mirror and meticulously ran his hands through the curls and coils on top of his head, trying to mimic Louis' actions from the day before. The older boy had insisted that Harry had looked better after whatever magic Louis had performed on the haphazard strands, yet no matter how many times Harry tried to replicate the style, his hair never seemed to change. He frowned at his reflection, then slipped his index finger into a tight curl that had fallen into his eyes and coiled it tight around the digit, before fanning his hands back through the mass one more time. No difference. He sighed and gave up. It would have to do. 

On the drive into school, nerves began to gather in Harry's stomach as he listened to his mother, prattling beside him while she drove. Harry knew she was just as worried about his first day of school as he was, and she couldn't help but show it in her conversation topics. Anne Cox talked about anything and everything, from the new extension they'd added to the church, to what she'd had for breakfast that morning. It only exacerbated Harry's anxiety. He wished she would just stop talking for a moment so he could collect his thoughts. 

When they pulled up outside the gates of Halls Cross High School, Anne applied the handbrake and turned to face Harry with a sympathetic shine to her eyes. 

“Well, we're here,” she smiled, then leaned froward and hugged him, “you'll be fine, darling.” 

Harry squeezed his mother tight, inhaling the familiar smell of her sweet, pomegranate perfume. When she pulled back, Harry's heart gave a thump in his chest. 

“Thanks mum,” he said, before opening the car door and stepping out into the street. 

Harry had only closed the door and taken a few steps forward when he suddenly heard his mother call out to him from the opened window of the car. He turned and stared back at her, 

“If you feel worried about anything just find Louis,” Anne smiled, “Jay said he'd be happy to help.” 

Harry wanted to scoff at the idea that Louis would be caught dead anywhere near him in school. The older boy would be much too worried about how hanging out with a first year would affect his reputation, considering he was just _so cool._

No, Harry would definitely not be asking Louis for any help on his first day, but he couldn't bare to disappoint his mother, so he just smiled and nodded. 

“I will,” he said. 

When Anne pulled out from her parking spot and drove away, Harry felt a knot of dread settle in his stomach. The school was large and intimidating, like a red brick castle standing in the middle of a typical suburban street. Around the pillared walls, hundreds of school children walked and chatted together in groups, giggling and laughing as they stepped around Harry's lonely form. 

He felt out of place here already. 

As Harry stood in the same spot in front of the building, he couldn't help but think back to the advice Louis had given him the day before. 

_Look less terrified._

Harry immediately relaxed his shoulders and swept a hand back through his hair, hoping he looked more casual than he felt. 

_Look good._

Well, he'd tried. There wasn't much else he could do with the regulation green and black uniform he was required to wear. 

_Make friends._

He looked around at the groups of young, fresh-faced kids around him and wondered if any of them would be his friend. He was a nice person, he should be able to make _one_ friend...he hoped. 

_Get a girlfriend._

Harry grimaced. Maybe a bit early to be thinking about that. 

When Harry had finally gathered enough courage to walk through the front gates and enter the building, he found himself being swept along the long, maze-like corridors in a sea of pupils. When Harry looked at his timetable, he noticed that his first class was in room 3A. The only problem was that the design of the school was winding and random, and it made him feel like he was walking in circles no matter what he did. It also didn't help that the walls were painted in a single shade of beige, which meant that one corridor was indistinguishable from another. 

When he turned and walked down yet another familiar hallway, he heard a distinct cackle emanating from somewhere in front of him. Harry immediately looked up in the direction of the sound and sure enough, Louis was walking down the corridor in the opposite direction, heading straight towards him. 

Louis was surrounded by three other boys who Harry suspected were his friends. Harry even recognised one of them from church; a small boy with dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate, who stayed close to Louis' side, sharing his spotlight. Zayn, he was called. Harry often saw Louis speaking to Zayn after the Sunday service, passing time while his stepfather mingled with the congregation. 

It was strange observing Louis in a different setting, away from Bible studies and the confines of his room, where he only had Harry to talk to. Louis looked different dressed in his school uniform, more grown-up, and Harry couldn't help but watch as Louis effortlessly drew the attention of everyone around him. People seemed to orbit Louis. Harry wished he could bottle whatever it was that made the older boy so magnetic. 

When Louis looked up and spotted Harry, he barely blinked an eye in Harry's direction as he continued to tell his story to the boys around him with the same amount of unbridled energy and enthusiasm that he was notorious for. Harry barely registered on Louis' radar. When Louis passed Harry in the hallway, he didn't even bother to say hello. Harry hadn't expected him to. It was all _so_ predictable. 

Harry eventually found room 3A after he was forced to go into the school office and ask the receptionist. 

'Oh love, look at you, don't look so worried,' she said, '3A is just on the top floor to your left, at the very end of the corridor. You can't miss it, dear.' 

When Harry walked into the large, rose-coloured room, he was immediately faced with a crowd of gaggling school children. A hush fell over the class as all eyes turned to the new entry, but it didn't take long for everyone to go back to their previous conversations. Harry walked down the aisle and sat down behind one of the only available desks, immediately pulling out his books. He couldn't help but wonder how all these children could talk to each other so easily after just twenty minutes of entering the school. How did they all know each other? 

At that moment, a tall, grey-haired man walked into the room. A hush descended as he raised his hands into the air and slowly pulled them down in a motion for the class to decrease the volume. Harry assumed it must be their teacher. 

“Welcome, first years!” The man said, in a thick, Welsh accent, “Nice to see you're all settling in, but can you all please stop yammering for one minute 'til I get introductions out of the way.” 

The residual hum of chatter quickly faded as the man scanned his icy, cool eyes across the room. Harry found him to be more than a little intimidating. 

“Right, so, my name is Mr. Wilson and I'll be your new English teacher,” he said, smiling politely as he rested his thighs back on the wooden edge of his desk, “I hope we can all have a very calming, very spiritual journey together. I hope you can teach me some things and I can teach you some things. Together, God willing, we will get through this year alive.” 

There were a few scattered laughs around the room. 

“Thank you for that,” Mr. Wilson said, “anyone who laughed immediately passes the year. Go home now.” 

The laughter grew then, louder, and Harry found himself grinning at his teacher's attempts at humour. Harry hadn't been used to teachers being anything other than old and boring, without any personality. Mr. Wilson seemed fun, and still young despite his grey hair. 

“In all seriousness though,” Mr. Wilson said, holding up his hands, “I remember what it's like to start a new school. It's scary at first, meeting new people and trying to fit in, but I can assure you it all works out in the end.” 

Harry felt a little lighter with the words. 

“So, I assume all of you are sitting beside the new friends you've made,” Mr. Wilson said, gesturing around the room with two hands. 

Harry looked around at all the young, startled faces that were now staring at their new teacher, like they knew something bad was about to happen. 

“Well, here's your first assignment. I want you all to get up, have a little walk around and sit down beside someone you haven't met yet.” 

A collective groan rose up from the pupils, like the man had just told them something truly heinous. Mr. Wilson raised his fists to his eyes and pretended to cry, mocking the class, 

“ _Boohoo, teacher made me move._ Get up, come on!” 

At that moment, everyone in the class stood up from their seats and began to move around the room. 

Harry watched in mild fascination as pupils orbited each other, noticing how some friends outright refused to be separated from their companions. Heard some kids grumbling that they'd only just met their new friends, so surely that would count as sitting down beside someone they didn't know? 

Harry, however, was glad. He really needed to make a friend soon, otherwise he'd be cast aside as a high school reject. According to Louis, anyway. 

Finally, when Mr. Wilson told them to sit down, Harry moved himself to a seat in the middle of the room. When he'd appropriately settled, he turned to the boy beside him. Light brown hair and blue eyes, a pinched face. Familiar. When the boy opened his mouth, a thick Irish accent fell from his lips, surprising Harry. 

“Nice to meet you,” the boy said, lifting up one hand in a saluted greeting, “my name's Niall. What's yours?” 

Harry smiled, 

“It's Harry Styles,” he said, “I think I recognise you. You go to my church.” 

The boy furrowed his eyebrows in thought as he looked at Harry, trying to place his face. Suddenly, recognition dawned on him. 

“Oh, yeah, I've seen you about. I think my ma'am is friends with yours,” Niall nodded, “she comes over for tea or some shit sometimes.” 

Harry's eyes widened at Niall's use of swear words. 

“So,” Harry said, dropping his shoulders, “what do you think of high school so far?” 

The boy beside him twisted his face in thought for a moment, then carefully met his gaze, 

“Shit.” he said, bluntly, “I can already tell this place is a shit hole, man. Wish my parents had moved back to Ireland where all my old friends are. Jesus Christ.” 

Harry found it difficult not to wince at the constant cursing this young boy did. He had never met another eleven year old who swore so much. Still, Harry didn't want to lose his new acquaintance by reprimanding him, so he remained quiet. 

“How about you, mate?” Niall asked, “You enjoying Halls Cross so far?” 

“It's...” Harry paused, thinking about long, twisting corridors and unfamiliar faces, “Not what I expected.” 

“Ha, you think it's shit too,” Niall cackled, “brilliant. I think that's a great bonding moment we've shared.” 

Harry couldn't help it, he grinned. 

From that moment on, Niall and Harry spent their whole day together, navigating through their timetables with military precision. Harry felt like he was a lost ship and Niall was directing him through each mangled corridor with the eye of an experienced sailor. However, it wasn't just the need for friendship that drew him to the Irish boy. Harry felt a genuine connection to him. In many ways, Niall was like a bolder version of Harry, unafraid to voice his opinions on anything and everything, and Harry let him talk because he usually agreed. It was a wonderful prelude to what Harry hoped to be his first real friendship at Halls Cross. 

At lunch, Harry and Niall walked around the packed dining hall with their trays, and eventually found a long table to sit at near an open window. 

At Halls Cross, all the years shared a lunch time, so it wasn't long before Harry spotted Louis at the other side of the dining hall. Louis was sitting with Zayn Malik and a few other boys that Harry didn't recognise. Eleanor Calder was also there, sitting beside Louis. Harry could clearly see them interacting. Louis was pulling funny faces and smiling, trying to get her attention by any means necessary, making the whole table crack up laughing. Harry just couldn't connect _this_ boy with the same boy he spent all his Sundays with. When Harry and Louis hung out together, it was more of a duty for the older boy, like he was babysitting. Louis never tried to make Harry laugh. 

Harry's eyes remained focused on Louis' table, completely ignoring his lunch, which was getting colder by the minute. After a few moments, Niall began picking from Harry's plate, taking stray chips here and there whenever he felt he could get away with it. After taking a third chip, Niall eventually became concerned enough by Harry's lack of response that he peered over in the direction Harry was looking. 

“She's something else, isn't she?” Niall asked, voice tinged with admiration. 

Harry turned his attention back to Niall, brow wrinkled in confusion. After a moment of thought, Harry realised that Niall must've thought he'd been looking at Eleanor from across the room. 

“Eleanor's nice,” Harry said, repeating the formulated response he'd given Louis the day before, “she has a nice singing voice.” 

“She has a nice everything,” Niall insisted, eyes wide, “nice hair, nice eyes, nice face. God, what I wouldn't do to her.” 

Harry lowered his eyebrows, 

“What?” He said, “What wouldn't you do to her?” 

“I don't know,” Niall shrugged, “but my brother always says it when he watches _Transformers_ and Megan Fox comes on the TV.” 

Harry nodded, though he still had no clue what Niall was talking about. When Harry turned his attention back to Louis' table, Louis and Eleanor were wrapped up in conversation, Louis' hand on her shoulder, giving her his undivided attention. 

“Think you're out of luck, pal,” Niall said, gesturing towards the pair, “I think she's into what’s-his-name with the fringe.” 

“Louis,” Harry supplied, “Louis Tomlinson.” 

“You know him?” Niall asked. 

Unfortunately. 

“Yeah, he goes to my Bible studies class, he's the minister's stepson,” Harry said, then raised an eyebrow at Niall, “I'm surprised you don't know him.” 

“Yeah, well, I don't give a fuck about church anyway,” Niall shrugged, “I don't pay attention to anything they say in there.” 

Harry barely blinked at the response. In less than a day, he'd become almost used to Niall's overt use of swear words. Harry suspected that Niall had probably heard the words from his older brother and was simply repeating them. 

“Well, if you know him, why don't you ask him to introduce you and Eleanor?” Niall asked, like it was the most simple thing in the World. 

Harry laughed. 

“Niall, Louis would break my neck if I asked that,” he said, “besides, he's the one that likes her.” 

“Yeah, I suppose that's pretty obvious,” Niall nodded over at them, watching as Louis smoothly swept a curl away from Eleanor's dark eyes, “like Romeo and Juliet over there. Boke. Sickening stuff.” 

Harry turned to face Niall with a wide, toothy grin, 

“It is pretty sickening,” Harry confirmed, glad he finally had someone to complain about Louis to. 

“Yeah, and _he_ seems like an absolute wanker,” Niall added, “look at him, all over that poor girl like a skin rash.” 

Harry took mild delight in Niall's destruction of Louis' character. For Harry, there was a certain catharsis about it. For years he'd had to suffer Louis Tomlinson on his own, biting his tongue, but now he didn't feel quite so alone. Not with Niall. 

“He can be mean sometimes,” Harry said, hurt taking over the waves of delight running through him, “I just don't know why he doesn't like me.” 

“You do something to him?” 

Harry shook his head, “No. Our Mums have lunch together sometimes after church and we're forced to hang out. Other than that, I don't know.” 

“Oh...well, do _you_ like _him_?” Niall asked. 

“Not really,” Harry wrinkled his nose, “but I think that's because _he_ doesn't like _me_. I mean, he's a completely different person with his friends.” 

“Ah well,” Niall shrugged, peeling the lid off his yoghurt pot, “you win some, you lose some. Not everyone's gonna like ya.” 

The sentence hung in the air as they both silently ate the rest of their lunch. Harry was just tucking into the final piece of a jam doughnut when he heard the other boy speak. 

“But listen,” Niall said finally, as if he'd thought long and hard about the subject, “I don't know what's-his-face, but I kind of know you now, Harry, and you seem like a nice guy. Fuckin' ace. So, that's my two cents, take it or leave it.” 

Harry beamed at the words, rough-around-the-edges though they were. 

“Thanks Niall,” he said. 

“No problem.” 

When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch, Harry told Niall to go to the next class without him. 

“I'll be there in a bit, my hands are covered in icing sugar from that doughnut and I need to wash it off,” Harry explained. 

Niall said he didn't mind waiting, but Harry insisted. 

Harry walked down the long, empty corridors and finally found the bathroom, which was located behind two large, swinging doors opposite the school office. As he entered the room, he was immediately bombarded with cold, blue tiles and slate grey walls, which lowered his mood immediately upon entering. However, what lowered his mood even further was seeing Louis Tomlinson standing in front of a long, smudged mirror, fixing his hair. 

Louis turned his head to whoever had just interrupted his hair styling session, and his expression immediately dropped upon seeing Harry. Harry ignored Louis and walked over to the sink to begin washing his hands. When Harry looked up, he saw Louis' eyes staring at him in the reflection of the mirror, making him pause, 

“Not even going to say _hello_?” Louis asked, icily, continuing to fix his hair once he had Harry's attention, “Bit rude, Curly, I thought you had more manners.” 

Harry's mouth fell open at the sheer hypocrisy. 

“You never said _anything_ to me when you passed me in the corridor earlier,” he argued, “and you _knew_ I was lost, so don't pretend like you didn't.” 

“I was talking to other people,” Louis reasoned, “it would've been rude to stop mid-conversation to talk to you.” 

“Yeah right,” Harry rolled his eyes, “besides, I didn't want to talk, I wanted help! I needed to find a classroom.” 

“Well, you got there in the end,” Louis shrugged, waving his hand, “you didn't need my help. You know the saying, _teach a man to fish_ n' all that.” 

“That's rubbish,” Harry shook his head, “you just didn't want to help because you hate me.” 

“Hate's a bit of a strong word,” Louis said, “I tolerate you.” 

Harry grimaced, and it was only then that Louis' expression softened slightly. 

“All right, I'm sorry, OK? Bloody hell, don't cry about it.” 

Harry remained huffy, his lips pursed together into a frown while he looked at the floor, arms folded in a manner that only a sulking child could successfully pull off. It was only when he felt the soft touch of a hand on his arm that he looked up to see Louis standing in front of him, an expression of genuine remorse in his eyes, 

“Look, I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to ignore you when you needed my help, OK?” 

Harry was almost too shocked to respond, but eventually he removed the terse expression from his face and slowly nodded. With that, Louis' hand immediately fell from his arm, as though it had never been there. Harry felt himself relax. 

Maybe Louis wasn't so bad? 

“I thought I told you to fix your hair,” Louis said suddenly, peering up at the crown of curls. 

With that, Harry's defences immediately rose again. 

“It looks _the same_ ,” he argued, “I spent ages on it this morning and it looked no different than when you did it yesterday.” 

Louis shook his head violently, then leaned forward and began running his hands through the strands again, fingers curling over the thick waves as he meticulously separated each section, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. When he was done, he proudly stepped back to survey his work, 

“There,” Louis smiled, “perfect.” 

Harry turned his head to inspect the results in the mirror. 

No difference. In fact, he thought it looked slightly untidy, if anything. 

By the time he turned to tell Louis as much, the older boy had left. 

-*- 

The rest of Harry's first week went by in a rush of new textbooks, navigating classrooms and first assignments. All accompanied by a soundtrack of Niall cursing and wishing he was back in Ireland. Louis hadn't spoken to Harry for the rest of the week, despite having more than enough opportunities, and Harry finally accepted the fact that Louis was going to be of no use to him in his new school. It wasn't until that Sunday at Bible studies that they were forced to interact again. 

A small group of young, apple-faced worshippers were sitting in a circle in the middle of a bright room at the back of the church. The room was adorned with painted pictures of well-known biblical scenes, with one scene in particular standing out as the main decoration: a wall painted with the fall of Adam and Eve. Eve had just taken a bite from the apple and the snake was twisting around her ankle. Harry found it quite ominous for a Bible studies class, but Eve was smiling, so he supposed it wasn't so bad. 

Harry clutched his Bible in both hands, following the verse being read aloud by Liam Payne, a young boy with a nervous stutter who kept stumbling on simple words, making it impossible to read along. Harry heard a giggle emanate from the corner of the room, and when he looked up he noticed Louis and Zayn huddled together, whispering and laughing as Liam stumbled across the familiar verse. Harry felt his hands tighten around the edges of his book, face flushed with anger. He knew Liam could hear them laughing, and his stutter became worse under the pressure. 

“Louis Tomlinson!” Mrs. Sweeney, the Bible studies teacher, exclaimed, “Could you please stop your churlish giggling right now! Liam is trying to read about the temptation of Jesus and you are being very distracting!” 

Louis straightened his posture and attempted -rather poorly- to look serious, 

“Sorry,” he said, unable to help a chuckle from escaping his lips, “won't happen again. Please, continue Liam, ever so sorry.” 

The overly pleasant apology caused Zayn to break his remorseful expression and double over into a fit of giggles once again. However, he was immediately silenced by a single, glassy look from Mrs. Sweeney's pale eyes, which peered out from an overly rouged face. After a moment of simply staring at the two boys, Mrs. Sweeney turned to Liam with a bright smile and said, 

“Carry on, Liam.” 

Liam looked slightly terrified, but complied with the request. Unfortunately, his stutter was even worse. Harry couldn't help but wince as each word took about two minutes to extract from the boy's nervous lips. When Liam eventually finished the passage and sat down, his face was the colour of a beetroot. 

“Thank you, Liam,” Mrs. Sweeney said, “I apologise for that _rude_ interruption.” 

Harry peered over at Louis and Zayn as they shared a single look, trying to hide their smirks. At one moment, Louis peered across the room and met Harry's judgemental gaze, raising an eyebrow. Harry could practically hear the silent _what are you looking at?_ He immediately tore his gaze away. 

When class was over, Harry couldn't help the knot of dread that formed in his stomach at having to go back to Louis' house. He could tell that the older boy was in a rebellious mood today and it made his body hum with tension. Louis was particularly impossible to deal with when he was like this, moody and uncontrollable, and Harry didn't have the temperament to deal with it at the moment. 

` 

Louis said his goodbyes to Zayn and turned to walk across the room towards Harry, who was waiting for him beside the door. They didn't make eye contact as they both fell into step beside each other, silently making their way through the halls of the church before exiting through the high, arched front doors and into the courtyard. 

Anne and Jay were waiting for them as they exited, ready to take them back to Louis' house. 

When they finally arrived, Louis immediately shot upstairs to his room, not bothering to look back to see if Harry was following. Harry turned towards his mother and gave her a look that expressed his dissatisfaction, but Anne simply smiled and told him to follow Louis and enjoy their play date. Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. Surely his mum knew that he and her best friend's son did not get on? Or was she was simply ignoring the obvious? Still, he didn't have much of a choice, so he followed Louis upstairs, his feet falling heavily, reluctantly, on the plush, beige carpeting. 

When he arrived at Louis' room, the door was closed tight. Harry hesitated in front of it, unsure of whether to enter or not. Still, he couldn't stand outside it for the next two hours, so he finally raised his hand and tapped his knuckle against the wood grain. 

Silence. 

Harry pursed his lips and opened the door, not in the mood for Louis' drama queen antics today. When he entered, the sandy-haired boy was sitting up on his bed, cross-legged, peering out the window into his back garden with a forlorn expression. Harry cleared his throat, trying to attract attention. When he received no response, he walked over and took a seat beside Louis on the bed. 

“Uhm,” Harry hesitated, unsure of how to respond to Louis' sudden drop in mood, “are you OK?” 

Louis finally broke eye contact with the window to look at Harry. 

“No,” Louis muttered, a hollow sound, “I'm not.” 

“Oh,” Harry raised his eyebrows, “why not?” 

Louis sighed and lay back on his bed, violet jumper clinging to the slim lines of his body. Harry lowered his brow in confusion. 

“It's Eleanor,” he sighed, covering his face with his hands, “she texted me while we were in the car, saying she wants to talk. I think it's bad news.” 

Harry almost laughed at Louis' display of woe, but he thought it would only cause the other boy to shut down, so he tried to remain sympathetic. 

“Well...did she say what she wanted to talk about?” he asked. 

Louis scoffed, 

“No Harold, _obviously_ , that's why she said she wanted to talk! If she'd told me what she wanted to talk about, then we'd have already talked about it!” Louis sat upright and pulled out his phone from his pocket in a frenzied motion, “Look.” 

Harry peered at the message on the screen, eyes adjusting to the close proximity as Louis forced it upon him. 

_Hi Louis :) Was wondering if u'd be free to talk tmrw. How abt we meet aftr school at Starbucks? :)) xx_

Harry lowered his eyebrows in thought, tearing his eyes from the text to look at Louis. The older boy seemed caught up in a web of perpetual despair. 

“It seems like she wants to talk about something nice,” Harry said, honestly, “I mean, she's put kisses and smiley faces. Why would she do that if it was bad?” 

“Women are fickle creatures, Harry,” Louis said, obviously repeating something he'd heard other, much older men say, “they play games with the hearts of fragile men.” 

“I think you're being a bit dramatic,” Harry said. 

Louis gaped at him, like he'd just been accused of something truly despicable. 

“Besides,” Harry continued, pulling down the sleeves of his red jumper to cover his hands, “she seems to like you. She acts like she likes you.” 

Louis' eyes remained downcast, but Harry could see his chin lift slightly as his interest piqued. 

“How do you know?” Louis asked, staring at Harry from under long lashes. 

“I can just tell,” Harry shrugged, “I see you both talking in lunch sometimes. She laughs at your jokes, she smiles at you. It seems to me that she likes you.” 

Louis' eyes misted over as he processed this new information, then he slowly nodded. 

“OK,” he said, quietly, “so...she likes me.” 

“I think so,” Harry replied, “but I guess you'd have to talk to her to find out.” 

“Right,” Louis said, quickly typing something into his phone, “I'll text her now then.” 

After a few moments, he threw his phone to the side and dusted his hands, “There,” he said, “done. Thank you, Harold. Maybe you're not so useless after all.” 

Harry frowned, feeling slightly ashamed at the buzz that flowed through his veins at Louis' thinly veiled praise. 

“You're welcome...I think.” 

Louis grinned and leaned back on his bed, elbow resting on the plump pillow near his headrest. He peered Harry up and down, 

“So, how about you?” Louis asked, “You follow my advice and find a nice girl yet?” 

“It's a bit early for that, don't you think?” Harry said, shuffling on the edge of the bed, “I've only been in high school for a week.” 

“Zayn found a girlfriend within the first three days of school,” Louis shrugged, “and they're _still_ together.” 

Harry wondered how serious a relationship could be if it started at eleven years old, but he didn't argue. 

“I spoke to one girl,” Harry offered, like a test he needed to pass. 

“And?” Louis pushed. 

“Well, I only spoke to her because I accidentally spat my gum out in her hair,” Harry shrugged, face reddening, “so, she was a bit mad when I told her.” 

Louis rolled his eyes and slapped a hand over his face, “Hardly the love story of the century, Harold.” 

“I know,” Harry swept a hand back through his hair, “I guess girls don't really like me.” 

Louis eyed him carefully, 

“I don't think that's it,” he whispered, “haven't you heard? Curls get the girls, mate.” 

Harry was unsure how to react to the unexpected compliment, so he simply lowered his head and tried to suppress the blush that had started to creep up the back of his neck. If Louis noticed the effect his words had on the younger boy, he said nothing. 

At that moment, the door to Louis' room opened and his stepfather walked in, dressed in a black tunic with a white collar, his blue eyes gazing over Louis and Harry as they both sat on the bed. 

Nigel Tomlinson was the kind of man that seemed born to be a minister, with his soothing voice and ethereal glow, he struck Harry as the type of father a boy like Louis would dream of having. However, upon seeing his stepfather, Louis immediately sat up straight, eyes dropping to the charcoal sheets of his bed. Harry smiled at the minister, 

“How are you doing, Harry?” Reverend Tomlinson asked, eyes crinkling at the corners as he entered the room. 

“I'm good, thanks,” Harry replied, gaze darting to Louis as the older boy sat quietly on his bed, “I just started high school this week.” 

“Ah yes, I heard that,” gesturing towards Louis, “I suppose you're glad to have at least one friend there to help you along on your first week.” 

Harry peered at Louis and was met with a pleading look. 

“Yes, definitely,” Harry lied, “Louis has been really helpful.” 

Harry knew that Louis and his stepfather did not get on. Although he did not understand the specifics of why this was so, he'd managed to piece together enough fragmented comments from Louis to form a rough conclusion. It seemed that Reverend Tomlinson considered his stepson a disappointment in many ways, mainly due to the fact that Louis was not the saintly, well behaved choir boy that many people would deem appropriate for a minister's son. 

“Wonderful,” Reverend Tomlinson said, eyes shining, “I'm glad to hear it.” 

Reverend Tomlinson tried to engage Louis in brief eye contact, but Louis kept his gaze down, eventually turning his head to peer out the window. Harry tried not to show how awkward he felt. 

“All right, then,” Reverend Tomlinson said, when he realised Louis was not going to acknowledge him, then turned his gaze to Harry, “nice to see you again, Harry.” 

Harry smiled and gave a small wave, “You too.” 

Louis' stepfather returned the smile, then dropped the expression when he turned his attention to his son. 

“Louis, I'll talk to you later. We need to go over the piano piece you'll be playing for the service next week.” 

Through the week, Mr. Patterson, a well known face around Holmes Chapel and generous patron of the church, died of a heart attack. Everyone in the vicinity would be going to the funeral, including Harry. Louis was required to play piano for the service. 

Louis simply replied to his stepfather's request with a curt nod. 

The older man turned and stepped out. Louis remained silent. 

“What piece are you playing?” Harry asked, hoping to shift the tense tone of the room. 

“'Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go',” Louis replied, then muttered, “stupid Mr. Patterson.” 

“It won't be that bad,” Harry shrugged, “it's only one song.” 

Louis shrugged, then tore himself from the bed and grabbed a blue, Adidas anorak from the peg at the back of his door. 

“I'm going out for a bit,” he said, pulling the blue fabric over the violet arms of his jumper, “you coming or not?” 

Harry blinked slowly, then rose to his feet to follow. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go or not, but he was worried about what the other boy might do without some kind of supervision. Luckily, Louis merely took them down a few side roads and into the park near Halls Cross High School, where he moodily stalked over to one of the swings and threw himself down, letting his feet drag along the ground. 

Harry sat beside him. 

“I hate this stupid place,” Louis said suddenly, angrily, “I can't wait until I'm old enough to leave.” 

Harry kept his head down, 

“Where would you go?” he asked finally. 

“Don't know,” Louis said, “anywhere. France, Spain, bloody Africa. Anywhere.” 

Harry nodded, 

“Africa would be cool,” he replied, thoughtfully, “I've always wondered what it would be like there.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, and Harry could see the trace of a smile on his face, “me too.” 

“Well, you should then,” Harry said, resolutely, “when you're older, I mean. What's stopping you?” 

Louis smiled sadly as he looked at the younger boy, like it was a nice thought but ultimately impossible. He shrugged, 

“I can't,” he said, “my stepfather wants me to be a minister, like him.” 

Harry frowned, 

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, just say you don't want to be a minister.” 

“I _can't_ ,” Louis said, “I'm the only boy in my family, I have to take over. My mum's got her heart set on it. I _have_ to.” 

Harry couldn't imagine his own mother forcing a future on him that he didn't want, found it difficult to think that Louis' mum would force Louis do something that would make him so unhappy, and yet Louis looked so utterly miserable that Harry wondered if maybe he really _didn't_ have a choice. With his head resting against the chains of the swing, mouth slack and down-turned, Harry had never seen Louis look so sad before. 

“I can't imagine you being a minister,” Harry said, kicking the ground with his foot. 

Louis laughed at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. The first sign of amusement he'd shown since sniggering with Zayn during Bible studies. 

“You can't?” 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head as he looked up into blue eyes, “I mean, you laughed at Liam Payne's stutter this morning. Not exactly the sign of a good minister.” 

Louis chortled, but managed to look a little contrite as he ducked his head and leaned in towards Harry. 

“I know,” he said, “that was a little mean.” 

Harry peered at Louis carefully, unable to help himself from marveling at the sudden openness the other boy was displaying. He wondered why Louis couldn't be unguarded like this all the time? 

“I guess we should head back,” Louis said, standing up. 

Just as Harry lifted himself from the seat of the swing, Louis broke into a run, peering back at Harry with flashing eyes and a wicked grin, 

“Race ya!” Louis said, feet pounding over the pavement as he darted between the amusements littering the park. 

Harry laughed and immediately sprinted after him, legs struggling to keep up. 


	2. Angel of Small Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and left Kudos. I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Warning: This story deals with religion, homophobia and contains scenes that involve minors. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with One Direction and do not claim to know them. This is a work of fiction.

 

Throughout the week, Louis reverted back to ignoring Harry in school, and Harry accepted the treatment like he always did. He knew that no matter how many deep conversations he and Louis had, or how much headway they seemed to make, Louis would always regress back to his old patterns of behaviour. It was inevitable, and he'd grown past caring.

When the second week of school was over and Saturday rolled around, Harry found himself sitting inside the stone walls of the church, accompanied by his mother and his sister. Organ music played, and Mr. Patterson's dark, polished coffin was displayed regally at the front of the church beside the pulpit.

Harry fidgeted in his seat, trying to get comfortable in the tight confines of his black suit. When the music finally relented, Harry turned his attention back to the front of the hall, where Reverend Tomlinson had taken his place on the podium.

“Good afternoon everyone. Thank you for showing your respect on this solemn occasion. We are here today to celebrate the life of Oliver Patterson...”

Reverend Tomlinson continued to talk about Mr. Patterson in a manner suited to the occasion, waxing lyrical about his community work, generosity to the church and his devotion to his family. Harry could hear muted sobs echoing from the front of the hall.

“Now, if you'd be so kind as to open your booklets to page three, we will begin the ceremony with a simple hymn, one of Oliver's personal favourites,” Reverend Tomlinson looked down towards the front row and nodded, “Louis, if you'd be so kind.”

At that moment, Louis stood up from his seat and made his way towards the church organ, which stood beside the choir stalls. It was the first time Harry had seen Louis in a suit and it made him look much older than his thirteen years. When Louis sat down at the piano and splayed his fingers across the keys, Harry held his breath.

The music filled the room in an instant, powerful and all encompassing, notes spilling from his fingertips. Harry was surprised by how skilled Louis was and how serious he looked as he leaned over the keys, brow furrowed above his pale eyes as he peered at the music sheets in front of him. The choir sang the first line alone, then the congregation joined in on the second.

 _O Love that wilt not let me go,_  
_I rest my weary soul in thee;_  
_I give thee back the life I owe,_  
_That in thine ocean depths its flow_  
_May richer, fuller be._

Harry sang each verse with focused attention as the room filled with the voices of all those that cared for Mr. Patterson, guided by Louis' playing. When the song finally came to an end, Harry was unable to tear his eyes from Louis as he stepped down from the organ and returned to his pew. When Louis was out of sight, Harry's attention flicked up to the choir stalls where he saw Eleanor sitting in the second row, gazing down at Louis with low-lidded eyes. Harry tried to ignore the prickle of some foreign emotion in his chest.

When the service was over, Harry remained seated while his family stood and conversed with the other members of the church. Anne was busy talking to Jay, discussing whether or not they would be able to attend the wake. Harry's sister Gemma, on the other hand, was talking to one of her friends about a falling out she'd had with another girl on her hockey team and the drama that had ensued since the incident.

Louis immediately darted towards the choir stalls after the procession to talk to Eleanor. Harry assumed that whatever Eleanor had wanted to discuss with Louis on Monday had ended well. Better than well, in fact, since Harry had heard through the school grapevine that they were now _officially_ boyfriend and girlfriend.

As he sat alone on the wooden bench, Harry suddenly felt the presence of a body thump down beside him, taking his attention away from the couple at the front of the hall. When he turned his head, he was greeted by Niall's grinning face.

“What's up?” Niall asked, eyes twinkling, “Enjoy the service?”

“Don't think 'enjoy' would be the right word. It was sad.”

“Never liked Mr. Patterson, to be honest,” Niall propped his feet up on the back of the pew in front, casually, “he yelled at me once for stepping on his petunias and I never got over it.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Can't say I blame him for yelling at you.”

Niall shrugged. “Ah well, he's dead now. Guess I won't hold a grudge.”

Harry couldn't help himself from laughing, even though he could feel the eyes of the saints judging him for it.

When Anne and Gemma had finished their respective discussions, Harry stood to his feet and made his way towards the front door, followed closely by Niall. When he reached the courtyard, he saw Louis, Eleanor and Zayn gathered around the church gates, talking amongst themselves. Louis' hands were shoved in his pockets while Eleanor stood with her arm linked in his. Zayn, on the other hand, was gazing around with wide eyes. Probably trying to find his girlfriend, Perrie.

As they passed the small group, Anne immediately stopped,

“You played beautifully today, Louis,” she beamed, touching Louis' shoulder softly, “you're very talented. They should have you play every week at the Sunday service.”

Louis smiled,

“Oh, don't know about that, Anne,” he said, “I don't have a patch on Mrs. Henderson. She's the real talent.”

Mrs. Henderson was an elderly lady who had played piano for the Sunday service every week for over twenty years.

“Nonsense,” Anne waved her hand, “you're being too modest. You should seriously consider studying music when it's time for you to go to university.”

Louis' face dropped ever so slightly, the gesture so subtle it may have gone unnoticed if Harry hadn't been paying such close attention. However, within an instant, Louis was grinning once again,

“Bit of a while yet, but I'll definitely consider it. Thanks though.”

Anne smiled at him then continued to walk ahead, chatting with Gemma along the way. Harry was just about to follow, but he paused for a moment, then stepped back to look Louis in the eye.

“You really were good,” he said, daring to break the fourth wall that seemed to exist between them in public, “I just wanted to say.”

Louis peered up at him with startled, wide eyes as Eleanor and Zayn remained silent beside him. After a moment, Louis shook the surprise from his features and his expression morphed into cool detachment. Louis leaned forward and squeezed Harry's shoulder with a condescending smile,

“Jeez, thanks Curly,” he said, “in the future you can send your fan-girl mail to my home address.”

Without another word, Louis brushed past him and began to walk towards his mum's car, accompanied by a giggling Zayn. _I can't believe you just said that, man._

Eleanor at least had the decency to look sympathetically at Harry before she followed. Harry turned to Niall, who stood beside him, gaping.

“That guy is an asshole,” Niall said, shaking his head, “how the fuck can you stand to be around him every week?”

Harry felt his stomach drop as he slowly began to follow his mum and sister. “I can't.”

When Sunday morning came, Harry told his mother he was too sick to go to Bible studies.

-*-

For the next few weeks, Harry had managed to avoid Louis on Sundays as well as through school, and the older boy had done nothing to garner his attention. In fact, Harry thought Louis quite liked the freedom it afforded him, since he was able to spend his Sundays with Eleanor instead of babysitting an eleven year old. In the meantime, Harry had spent his school days with Niall, and together they also befriended Liam Payne, who Niall had caught eating lunch in a bathroom stall by himself one Tuesday afternoon. Apparently he'd been doing that since the start of term, and it was now the beginning of October.

One Wednesday afternoon, all three boys were gathered around a lunch table playing a game of table football with players made from cheese string and a ball fashioned from a jelly bean.

“He shoots,” Niall said, kicking the jelly bean ball with the stump of his cheese string, “he scores!”

Liam, who'd let the goal pass, rested his head on his forearms in abject defeat.

“ _Niall is the best, better than the rest,_ ” Niall sang, off key, “ _watch in amazement, Liam Payne is shit._ ”

“You know, there's such a thing as being a sore winner.” Liam said, “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry didn't hear Liam's comment, distracted from the events by a young girl at the table opposite who was smiling at him, peering over every so often as she talked with her friends. Harry raised his eyebrows and looked around, unsure whether or not this blonde girl was actually looking at _him._ After a few quick glances, he was positive the smiles were meant for no one else.

Harry turned to Niall and Liam and whispered,

“Don't look now, but there's a girl at the table across from us who keeps staring at me.”

Of course, Liam and Niall immediately craned their necks to see.

“Where, where?” They asked in unison, eyes darting all over the place.

“Hey!” Harry said, immediately drawing their attention back to him, “I said _don't look now_!”

At that point, Niall 'subtly' pretended to stretch, slowly turning his head to catch a glimpse of this mystery girl behind them, whose blue-eyed attention was still fixed on Harry.

“Oh boy,” Niall said, immediately turning back, “she's definitely looking, mate. She wants it. Quick, smile back.”

Harry immediately grinned, panic forcing him to follow any and all advice on how to deal with this unexpected situation.

“Who is she?” Liam asked, turning to get a look for himself. “She's pretty!”

“That's Agatha Crossly,” Niall said, “She's in the year above. A wee cutey. Looks like she could eat you alive, Haz.”

“I don't know what to do,” Harry said, “she keeps staring.”

“Go say hi!” Liam insisted, brown eyes wide.

“Should I? I don't know. I can't. Should I?”

“Do it,” Niall tapped his fists on the table, a quiet chant, “do it, do it, do it!”

“All right, all right, stop that!” Harry said, breathing in shakily, “I'll do it.”

After all, that's what guys do, isn't it? If a girl likes them, they ask her out. Especially a girl as pretty as Agatha.

Harry slowly stood up from the table, legs shaking as he approached the blonde's table. She kept her eyes on him, smiling softly as he cautiously approached. When he finally arrived, Agatha's friends stopped talking and peered up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, then burst into a flurry of giggles as they rose from the table and left them alone.

Harry suddenly felt very exposed, standing in the middle of the busy lunch room as Agatha peered up at him, smiling.

“Hi,” Harry said, gesturing towards one of the seats her friends had just left, “do you mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead. I'm glad you came over.”

Harry's heart pounded under his starched school shirt. He hoped she couldn't see the pulse racing in his neck.

“So...” he said, tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop, “My name's Harry.”

“I know,” she laughed, eyes shining, “I'm Agatha. I've seen you around school. You're friends with Louis Tomlinson, yeah?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “How did you know that?”

“Holmes Chapel is small,” she shrugged, “I have friends that go to your church.”

“Oh. Well, we're not really friends. We hang out sometimes on Sundays, but that's it.”

An awkward silence passed between them. Harry wasn't exactly sure how to continue with this bold gesture he'd embarked upon, not experienced enough to navigate the choppy temperaments of a woman.

“Oh,” Agatha said, slowly, “that's cool. I like to hang out.”

Harry's heart thumped in his chest.

“Me too,” he said, then quickly added, “we should hang out....sometime. If you're not busy.”

It was so blunt and inarticulate, so completely childlike in its innocence, and Harry couldn't believe he'd managed to sum up the courage to even get the words out. He suddenly realised what it must've felt like for Liam when he'd stuttered through his retelling of Jesus' temptation.

“I'd love to,” she said, “here, I'll give you my number so we can text each other.”

She pulled out her bejewelled, crystal covered phone case and began to read out her number to Harry, who scrambled to write it in the back of his diary. When he finally returned to his table, Niall raised his fists into the air while Liam held his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, imitating the roars of a baying crowd.

“ _He shoots_!” Niall said. “ _He scores_!”

-*-

Later that day, Niall and Harry decided to stop by the park on their way home from school.

“Hey! Pass it back!”

A football rolled past Harry's foot and stopped underneath a nearby swing. Niall ran over and picked it up, then casually threw it back to Zayn, who nodded his head in appreciation. Across the park, Louis was casting Harry and Niall disapproving glances, as though they had no right to be there. As though it was their fault that the ball had faltered from its intended course.

Niall and Harry watched the game that was taking place between Zayn, Louis and some other boys who lived in the neighbourhood. In fact, they'd been watching the game for about half an hour and had yet to be invited to join, which Harry decided was entirely intentional. Yet another example of how Louis thought that Harry was too much of a square to be seen interacting with him.

“We should start our own game,” Niall said, sitting down next to Harry on the grass, “what do you think?”

“I think we don't have enough players to start our own game.” Harry picked a daisy from the ground and began shedding its petals.

“This is so fucking annoying, why won't they ask us to play?” Niall moaned, “I bet it's Tomlinson. I bet he's telling them not to ask us.”

Harry peered over at Louis across the park, dressed in jogging bottoms and a blue anorak, watching the ball with calculated focus. When Louis spotted an opportunity to tackle a member of the opposite team and steal the ball, he did so with a surprising amount of grace. Louis was a good player. It wouldn't surprise Harry if he was intentionally leaving them out so that they wouldn't taint the game with their novice skills.

“Probably,” Harry snorted, “seems like something he would do.”

“Look at him,” Niall said, distaste curling his words, “he thinks he's so good.”

“He _is_ good though.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not _that_ good,” Niall was clearly intent on belittling Louis no matter what, facts be damned, “not as good as Zayn.”

“I'd say they're pretty equal.”

Niall hummed, a note of vague disagreement, but dropped the argument. After a moment, he changed the subject.

  
“So, you going to ask Agatha out then?”

Harry felt his cheeks rouge. It's not that he didn't like Agatha, he just didn't know what the Hell he was doing.

“I'm not sure, to be honest.”

Niall scoffed. “If you don't ask her out, you're an idiot. Think about it, she's older, more popular, and, let's face it, more attractive than you. You should really get on that, pronto.”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “That's a bit bloody offensive, Niall.”

Niall let out a sharp laugh and slapped his hand on Harry's shoulder, as if to assure him that it was all in good humour.

“Sorry,” he said, giving Harry's shoulder a few friendly slaps before retracting his hand, “just trying to motivate you. I don't know if you're aware, but you tend to get in your head about simple things quite a lot. If you like her, just _go for it_.”

Niall's hands were in the air, gesturing wildly. Niall had a knack for reducing complex problems to their simplest forms. Harry wished he possessed the same ability.

The sound of footsteps coming towards them pulled Harry and Niall from their conversation. They looked up at the same time, shielding their eyes from the sunlight, and noticed Zayn standing in front of them with his hands on his hips.

“Hey, you two,” he said, “fancy joining the game?”

Harry's mouth dropped open. Before he could form a response, Niall's surprised voice cut through the air,

“ _Us_?”

Zayn smirked, as though aware of the fact that Harry and Niall had been anticipating an invitation for the past forty-five minutes.

“Yeah, if you fancy it? Two of the guys have to go home now so we kind of need the extra players.”

Oh. So it _wasn't_ an invitation that stemmed from them seeing Harry and Niall as equals, but from desperation. They needed the extra players. Still, judging by the hurried way Niall stood to his feet and Harry followed, semantics weren't important.

“Sure, we'll help out!” Niall said, peppy as you like. “Anything for the beautiful game.”

Zayn turned and led the way back to the other boys. Harry's eyes passed over each one in turn before settling on Louis, who was in possession of the ball, playing a game of keep-up, passing it from foot-to-foot with effortless grace. When the ball dropped, Louis' eyes flicked up to meet Harry's, then quickly turned away.

Louis was _definitely_ not happy to see them.

“Found us some stand-ins.” Zayn chirped, calling out to the rest of the boys. All of a sudden, Harry felt multiple sets of eyes on him, sizing him up. “Come on then, let's pick teams. Louis, you first.”

Louis continued to toy with the ball, demonstrating his control, using his skill as an intimidation tactic. He lifted his gaze for just long enough to cast his eye over the group, then said, “I choose Niall.”

Harry didn't have to look at Niall to know what his expression would entail. Ruddy cheeks. Mouth open with shock. Trace of a smile and huff of a laugh as he happily skipped over to join his new captain.

Fuck.

One-by-one the teams were chosen and Harry was still left in the line-up, last one standing. Finally he was put into Zayn's team by default to even the numbers. It was potentially one of the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to him, but he refused to give Louis the satisfaction of knowing it.

The thing is, Harry couldn't help but be bothered by it. _Why_ did Louis choose Niall and not Harry? The two didn't even get on! The only logical conclusion he could draw from the decision was that Louis had wanted to hurt Harry. Had _wanted_ him to feel excluded. And that was just so _wrong_. The thought of it made Harry's head swirl, throwing him completely off the game. When they called time on their first match, he'd lost the team more goals than he'd won them.

Niall jogged over to him and pressed a hand to his arm. Harry pulled it away. He wasn't mad at Niall, he just couldn't stand to be touched, his body sensitive from nerves that were frazzled with humiliation.

“Don't listen to them, Haz,” Niall said, “you were fine out there.”

Harry glanced up. Niall could barely manage to maintain a stoic face in the midst of his own lie.

“I was awful, Niall.”

Niall grimaced. One lie was obviously all he could manage.

A shuffle of footsteps dragged Harry's attention away from Niall's concerned expression towards Louis, who was standing in front of them with one hand on his hip.

“You were pretty awful, has to be said,” Louis chirped, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Harry scowled. “Thanks, Louis.”

Louis' gaze passed over Harry to fall on Niall, “You've got some skills, mate. Good job out there.”

Niall, despite himself, broke out into a wide grin. However, when he glanced at Harry, his face dropped into a frown. Loyalty was obviously more important to Niall than gratuitous praise.

“Another game?” Zayn called out, gesturing towards them with raised brows.

Louis' eyes turned towards Zayn for a moment, then turned back to land on Harry. A small smirk quirked the corner of his lips, “You got another game in you?”

Harry felt his shoulders tense. Louis infuriated him, everything from his smug smile to his arrogance. Harry was sure this was just Louis' attempt at showing off in front of his friends.

“Yup,” Harry bit out, voice low, “I think I do.”

Louis and Zayn were team captains once again and _once again_ Harry was left until last. This time, however, he was put into Louis' team by default. As he stepped forward to join his team mates, he heard Louis mutter a sarcastic ' _Oh great'._

Harry would not let Louis throw him off.

When the game started, Harry started out slowly, assessing the other players with a critical eye. Everything was a blur around him as Louis bounded down the pitch, passing the ball to a tall, lanky guy on their team, bypassing Harry altogether even though he was open. Harry let out a huff of indignation and held out his hands, fixing Louis with an incredulous look. Louis glanced over at him and swept his fringe out of his eyes before moving on. When Harry looked back at Niall to see if he'd witnessed the exchange, Niall gave him a small shrug.

Louis' team scored the first goal. A victory that was in no way aided by Harry.

The game continued this way, with Harry remaining a helpless bystander as his team members dribbled the ball around him, avoiding him at all costs. Harry was almost about to give up entirely and take a place on the grass when he noticed Niall across the green, trapped by two players from Zayn's team. Harry's eyes shot open as he trotted forward, attempting to make eye contact with Niall. When the Irish boy turned and fixed Harry with a knowing glance, he gave a small nod and passed the ball to Harry with a smooth kick.

Suddenly, for the first time in the game, Harry had the ball.

Zayn's players surrounded him in an instant, attempting to tackle the weakest link. However, Harry was determined, and he managed to dribble the ball past them with relative ease. Harry's heart thumped in his chest as he made his way down the pitch, fast and furious. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He would _not_ be humiliated again.

The goal post was fast approaching as he skilfully bypassed Zayn, pulling the ball back with his foot as the older boy attempted to tackle him. From the corner of his eye he could see Louis bounding up to him, yelling for him to pass so Louis could take the shot. Harry glanced up at the goal post and assessed whether or not he could make it. In less than a moment, he'd made up his mind. He pulled back his foot and, using all his force, kicked the ball into the net.

It happened so quickly that Harry barely processed the goal until his team were surrounding him, wrapping him up in a flurry of approval.

“ _Fuckin' Hell_ , mate!”

“Nice one, Harry!”

“I can't _believe_ it!”

Harry beamed under the praise, satisfied that he'd redeemed himself from the mess that had been his last game. When he glanced up to find Louis staring at him, he stopped and held the eye contact, beaming. After a long moment, Louis quirked his eyebrow, then turned around to whisper something to Zayn. Zayn glanced over towards Harry and smirked, a small laugh, then shook his head and bopped Louis on the shoulder with his fist.

Harry felt a frown pulling at the corners of his lips as the compliments from his team mates turned to white noise around him.

Was Louis _laughing_ at him? Even after scoring the winning goal for their team, Louis still didn't take Harry seriously. Harry just didn't _get it_. What would he have to do for Louis to treat him with some respect?

He felt Niall's arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight, congratulatory bear hug.

Harry's heart felt like lead in his chest.

-*-

For three, blissful weeks, Harry was able to avoid spending any time with Louis.

However, all good things must come to an end, and one day Harry came home from school to find his mother dressed up in a beautiful, black silk suit, putting on her pearl earrings in front of a mirror in the living room. In the background, the voice of Annie Lennox crooned out from the CD player, which was poised in the antique glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Anne tapped her foot to the beat, humming along as she pulled out her makeup powder and dusted her nose.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, pulling the green and black tie of his uniform over his head.

“We've been invited over to the Tomlinsons for dinner.” she smiled, “Go get ready, we're leaving in an hour.”

Harry's face fell.

“What?”

“Jay asked if we'd like to join them for dinner.” Anne repeated, patiently.

“Do _I_ have to go?” Harry asked, a whiny edge to his voice.

Anne turned and fixed him with a firm look, hand on her hip.

“Harry...” she paused for effect. “I won't tell you again, now get upstairs and put on something nice.”

Harry turned and pounded his way upstairs, feet trailing along the carpeted floor as he burst into his room and flung himself onto the bed.

Damn it all.

After half an hour of sulking, he quickly got into the shower and dressed himself in a jumper and pair of jeans, which he deemed dressy enough for the occasion. As he stepped downstairs and followed his mum and sister out into the car, he couldn't help the swell of fear that settled in his stomach.

The closer they got to Louis' house, the more he felt like opening the door of their silver Volkswagen and rolling out into the road, just to escape. However, he'd left it too late as they slowly pulled up in front of the familiar, red brick house in the middle of a tiny cul-de-sac. Harry's skin prickled. He really didn't want to see Louis.

Louis had called him a fan girl, a term that Harry had immediately googled when he had had the chance:

fangirl

ˈfanɡəːl/

_noun_

_informal_

noun: **fan-girl**

  1. a female fan, especially one who is obsessive about comics, film, music, or science fiction.




Harry's stomach had recoiled in a tangle of nerves and disgust. Louis had basically implied that Harry was obsessed with him, when all he'd done was give Louis a compliment. There was also the memory of the football game from a few weeks before, when Harry had scored the winning goal for Louis' team and the older boy had merely laughed at him. The memory burned in Harry's mind as the front door pulled open and they were all greeted by Jay. Louis stood behind her, dressed in a white shirt and black dress trousers; the perfect picture of a pure, virtuous minister's son.

When Harry stepped through the front door, their eyes locked. Around them, Anne and Jay embraced, while Lottie ushered Gemma into the living room.

“Louis,” Jay said, “do you want to take Harry to your room so you boys can catch up? Dinner will be another twenty minutes yet.”

Louis grimaced, but complied with his mothers wishes, turning to lead the way up the creaking staircase. Harry reluctantly followed. When they were finally alone in Louis' room, Louis walked over to his bed and sprawled out on the sheets.

“Long time no speak,” Louis nonchalantly fiddled with a strand of sand-coloured fringe, before gently sweeping it back into place, “didn't think I'd see you back here.”

Harry folded his arms and remained standing by the door of Louis' room, ready to flee downstairs at a moment's notice.

“Not my choice,” Harry said, “believe me.”

This earned him a smirk from Louis,

“I believe you. I know you can't stand me.”

“Not when you're mean to me,” Harry said, “not when you call me names, like _fan girl!_ Not when you make fun of me in front of all your friends!”

Louis sat up and turned to Harry, legs crossed on his bed.

“It's _true_ though,” he hissed out the words through clenched teeth, “you are like a fan girl. I can't get rid of you!”

Harry felt the skin of his face turn blistering hot as the lights on Louis' ceiling shone down on him like tiny suns, making him sweat.

“I can't get away from you,” Louis said, “you're at my house on Sundays, and even when you're not here, you're at Bible studies, or you're in church, school, you're _everywhere._ ”

Harry's eyes were red-rimmed as he tried to stop the tears of frustration from flowing down his cheeks. He would not let Louis see him cry. It didn't help though, because the cruel words were falling from Louis' lips in an unfiltered frenzy. The type of cruelty only a child could muster, without any regard for the pain his words may cause.

“You're always looking at me, too. Everyone notices. Zayn notices.”

Harry shook his head,

“I don't understand you,” he said, “why are you like this? Why are you nice to me sometimes, and then other times you're...”

Louis' eyes narrowed on Harry as he spoke, cold and unyielding, and Harry wondered what had changed since that afternoon they'd spent on the swings. Without another word, Harry turned and stormed out of the room, covering his face with the sleeve of his jumper. He walked to the end of the hall and locked himself in the bathroom, wiping the tears from his eyes as he sat down on the edge of the white, porcelain tub.

The Tomlinson's bathroom was neat and polished. Colour-coded, sea shell green towels hung over metal railings, and a fluffy bath mat lay on the floor to match. Over the mirror hung a sign that read:

_Wash your hands and say your prayers because Jesus and germs are everywhere._

After he'd calmed down and wiped the remnants of tears from his eyes, Harry finally stepped out of the bathroom and made his way downstairs into the dining room. Everyone was already seated at the table, which was draped with a white cotton spread and lined with a succulent roast chicken covered in gravy, mashed potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. They'd obviously been waiting for him to extract himself from the bathroom before they began to eat.

Harry looked around and noticed with a sickening dread that the only available seat was beside Louis. Reluctantly, Harry walked over to the table and sat down beside him, avoiding eye contact.

After all, Harry didn't want to be accused of staring over dinner, as well as everywhere else.

“Harry, you took so long we were beginning to think you'd fallen in!” Anne said, chuckling quietly as she exchanged a cheeky look with Gemma.

Harry smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. “Sorry, I was just washing up before dinner.”

“Such lovely manners. Louis, you could learn a thing or two from Harry.” Jay said.

Harry could hear a huff of indignation from beside him, but Louis said nothing.

After a few moments, Reverend Tomlinson made his way into the kitchen from the living room and seated himself at the head of the table. A hush descended as they all turned their attention towards Louis' stepfather, who gave a faint nod of acknowledgment. Harry couldn't help but feel like he was at church and this dinner was some sort of Holy Communion.

“I was wondering if anybody would object to a quick prayer before we eat?” Reverend Tomlinson reached for Anne and Jay's hands, encouraging a chain.

Harry accepted Lottie's manicured hand from his right hand side. However, his stomach dragged when he realised he would have to hold Louis' hand as well. For a moment, Harry thought Louis would refuse to participate, but Louis eventually rolled his eyes and snatched Harry's hand in a firm, sweaty lock.

Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip.

“O Lord, we thank you for the gifts of your bounty which we enjoy at this table... ”

Louis' hand softened slightly as he held Harry's, their palms pressed together, warm and clammy.

“As you have provided for us in the past, so may you sustain us throughout our lives.”

When Harry felt the soft, slow brush of a thumb along his knuckles, his eyes shot open. He turned to face Louis, but the older boy's head was bowed, eyelids fluttering as he listened to the words of his stepfather. Harry closed his eyes once more, telling himself he'd imagined it, until once again he felt the pad of Louis' thumb drag across his knuckles, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. Unmistakable.

“While we enjoy your gifts, may we never forget the needy and those in want. Amen.”

  
Then, just as quickly as it had happened, Louis' hand disappeared and Harry was left startled and confused as the older boy casually reached over and began spooning mounds of mashed potato onto his plate.

What just happened?

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry reached over and began distributing tiny portions of vegetables and potatoes onto his plate, appetite suddenly gone as his head raced with jumbled thoughts. It was only when he heard a voice across the table say his name that he realised he was being asked a question.

“So Harry, are you enjoying secondary school?” Jay asked, smiling at him from across the table.

“Oh,” Harry swallowed a mouthful of food, clearing his mouth, “yeah, it's great. Different from what I expected, but good.”

“Made lots of new friends, I take it?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, “Anne's been telling me some stories.”

Harry's eyes drifted over to his mother just in time to see her give Louis' mum a swift kick under the table. He set down his fork and hid behind a fringe of curls.

“Jay! I told you not to say anything.”

“I didn't!” Jay replied, “I just asked if he'd made any friends.”

“You were wiggling your eyebrows!” Anne said, pointedly.

“What's going on?” Lottie asked, barely able to take her attention away from her phone long enough to hear the answer.

“Could you hens stop clucking and spit it out!” Louis said.

“Watch your tongue!”

Louis' stepfather's eyes were like cut glass, sharp and focused on the object of their disdain. They quickly softened as he turned to listen to Jay and Anne's bickering match. The sudden contrast unnerved Harry. For the first time in his life, he caught a glimpse of perhaps why Louis didn't like his stepfather.

Louis immediately lowered his head and began to pick at the food on his plate, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Harry has a girlfriend,” Gemma singsonged, waving her fork in circles in Harry's direction.

The table descended into a quiet hush as all eyes rested on Harry, who wanted the ground to swallow him up.

“Is that _true_?” Jay asked, smiling widely, eyes glittering, “Oh that's so cute! Who is the lucky girl, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, but he needn't have bothered denying it, since his mum and sister were quick to drop the details.

“Her name is Agatha Crossly,” Anne said, raising her eyebrows, “very pretty girl, isn't she Harry?”

“Oh, Bob and Margaret's daughter?” Jay's voice pitched with interest, “I know her parents. Nice people.”

“They've been texting for two weeks now,” Gemma flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, “I think it's getting serious.”

Harry suddenly empathised with the celebrities in magazines, whose love lives were analysed to shreds and then picked apart by gossip columnists. Throughout the entire conversation, Louis remained silent, something Harry found particularly odd considering this was exactly the type of conversation that usually provided excellent material for the comedy roastings he liked to give.

“Agatha Crossly _is_ a very pretty young lady,” Reverend Tomlinson winked at Harry as he casually held his fork aloft, “I hope you do right by her, Harry.”

“Oh Nigel, it's his first girlfriend, stop putting pressure on him!” Jay scolded, then fixed Harry with a small smile. “I think it's _adorable_.”

Harry felt his cheeks darken, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to text Agatha and tell her they needed to end whatever it was they were doing.

In truth, Harry didn't even know _what_ they were. Were they a couple now? He hadn't asked her to be exclusive. They hadn't even held hands yet. The whole thing was just so complicated and, to Harry's young brain, it didn't make any sense. Yes, he liked Agatha. She was nice and knew a lot about video games. But he wasn't sure he liked her in _that way._ The same way Louis liked Eleanor.

For once in his life, Harry almost wished the older boy _would_ make fun of him, just to assure him that having a girlfriend wasn't the miserable chore he was beginning to feel like it was. But Louis remained silent, picking at his food.

When dinner was over and Harry had been sufficiently grilled about his intentions towards Agatha, the adults continued to drink bottle after bottle of red _Zinfandel_ while the kids dispersed around the house. Louis retreated to his room without even so much as looking at Harry, so Harry was forced to sit at the table and listen to the adults talk about one of the many church fêtes that would be thrown at the end of the month.

However, after twenty minutes of listening to his mother discuss crepe paper decorations and cupcake recipes, Harry decided that he would go check on Louis. He couldn't stop thinking about the brush of the older boy's thumb on his knuckles, firm and insistent on his skin. Louis had wanted Harry to feel it, he was sure of it, and Harry thought maybe it was intended as an apology for being so cruel to him.

When Harry walked up the stairs and pushed open the door to Louis' room, the older boy was perched on the edge of his window, one leg hanging over the sill while the other rested on his bed. Louis' head immediately shot towards the door to his room upon hearing the noise, and when he saw Harry standing there, his face drained of colour.

Slowly, without a word, Louis swung his remaining leg through the window until his whole body was hanging out. Harry could barely process what was happening and for one brief, shocking moment, he thought Louis was going to jump. It was then that he noticed the crude, makeshift rope fashioned from bedsheets tied to the foot of Louis' bed, just long enough to lower him down onto the small roofed terrace that jutted out around the house, where he could then jump safely to the ground.

They made eye contact for one long, tense moment before Louis slowly raised his finger to his lips.

“You'll keep quiet about this, won't you Haz.” It was more of a statement than a request.

Harry swallowed, heart racing in his chest. He could hear someone whisper up to Louis from the garden below (Zayn, Harry assumed) and Louis turned his head back to say “I'll be down in a minute.”

With one final glance at Harry, Louis slowly lowered himself down until he was out of sight. Harry walked over to the window and watched as Louis made his way down the bedsheet-rope and onto the tiled terrace, before jumping onto the ground beside Zayn. They looked like two shadows as Harry watched them. In less than a minute, Zayn and Louis were running down towards the end of the garden, crouching down to slip through a small hole in the fence at the end. Right before Louis crawled through, he turned and gazed up at Harry through the bedroom window, pressing his finger to his lips once again . _Don't say anything._

When Harry returned back to the dinner table and received questioning glances from the parents, he told them Louis was sick and wanted to be left alone. He hoped, for his sake as well as Louis', that they believed him.

-*-

Luckily, Louis' parents never found out about his late night rendezvous with Zayn.

As a result, Louis began sneaking out every Sunday after Bible studies to meet Eleanor, leaving Harry alone in his room to make up excuses. Of course Harry protested, but it always ended with Louis somehow getting his way anyway. Probably something to do with the fact that, ever since Harry had started covering for him, Louis had become much more civil. In fact, Harry would almost go as far as to say Louis was being _friendly,_ and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention. Louis had even started talking to him in school, something that _never_ would've happened before. But only when nobody else was around to see.

Not only that, but Harry had started feeling differently towards Louis ever since the incident at the Tomlinson dinner table. Something about it had felt so... _strange_ to Harry. So oddly weighted. It was a good feeling though. The kind of feeling that made him think about Louis occasionally, causing his mind to drift to the soft sensation of a thumb pad grazing along his knuckles.

This occasional, indulgent daydreaming, mixed with Louis' increased friendliness towards Harry, led to a somewhat lethal combination. Somewhere along the line, with each passing week, Harry found himself silently craving Louis' attention. What once had been an unwavering disdain for the older boy had somehow turned into an all-encompassing need to be the focus of his attention. Every successful attempt to achieve this goal, whether it be a small wink or a passing joke in the hallway, caused a small beat of inexplicable joy to zip through Harry's body.

However, Louis' emotions were unpredictable at best, and often one pleasant encounter with him would lead to two more unpleasant encounters. This only meant that Harry thirsted for those tiny dribbles of goodwill Louis would occasionally feed him more and more, until he felt like he was in a permanent state of dehydration.

Outside of his interactions with Louis, Harry's popularity had grown since he started 'going steady' with Agatha Crossly. As it turned out, there seemed to be some truth to Louis' high school survival tips, since gaining a girlfriend (or something) had bolstered Harry's masculine prowess to intergalactic heights. Guys in his year were fist-bumping him, inviting him to their parties and picking him first for sports teams. Of course, Niall and Liam remained his two comrades-in-arms, but he was definitely enjoying the spotlight.

However, the spotlight also came unwanted attention. Over the past few weeks, Harry had been getting taunted by some boys in Agatha's year. It had started with fairly tame jibes as he walked past their table in the lunch room, then gradually progressed until it had become almost a daily occurrence. In truth, Harry suspected one of the boys had a crush on Agatha, and his suspicions were soon confirmed one Thursday afternoon whilst eating lunch with Liam. Niall arrived and plopped himself down at the table.

“You never told me you were going to be in a fight, Haz,” Niall said, casually tucking into his chicken and cheese panini.

Silence followed as Harry tried to process what the Irish boy had just said. He shook his head,

“What? What are you talking about? A fight with who?”

“Who d'ya think? That gingernut Kurt Michaels and all his cronies,” Niall said, sounding like he'd watched one-too-many mob movies, “he's been talking about it all day. Says he wants to meet you outside the gates after school.”

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was like some sort of nightmare.

“But, but— _why_?” Harry asked, gob smacked. “What have I ever done to him?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Liam leaned in conspiratorially, “Kurt _likes_ Agatha. You're _dating_ Agatha. It's an honour fight.”

Harry knotted his eyebrows.

“An _honour_ fight?”

Niall and Liam nodded. Harry slumped back in his seat.

“Well I won't be going,” Harry said, “end of. Kurt can fight himself.”

Niall and Liam both seemed to agree with this course of action.

“Right on, Hazza,” Niall said, nodding his head, “love not war.”

“We can avoid the main gate when we leave, so he won't see you.” Liam added. “Don't worry, we'll help you, Harry.”

Harry felt like a fugitive being smuggled out of a prison, but he appreciated the protection.

When the final bell of the day rang, Liam, Niall and Harry avoided the front gates of Halls Cross and decided to use an alternative exit around the back of the school; through the football fields and out onto a footpath by the main road. As they walked towards the bus stop, Harry began to receive text messages from some of the boys in his class, saying how angry Kurt had been when he hadn't shown up. Niall told him to forget about it, but the thought sat uneasily in the back of Harry's mind.

It was at that moment Harry heard a voice call out in front of them. When he looked up, he noticed a group of people in Halls Cross uniform approaching, and it wasn't long before he placed them as Louis, Zayn, Eleanor and Perrie. Harry's stomach dropped, wondering whether or not Louis had heard about his fight with Kurt and judged him for running away. He wasn't sure why he cared.

“Oi, aren't you supposed to be in a fight about now?” Louis asked, stopping when the two groups finally reached each other. “You're the talk of the whole school, mate.”

The older boy looked haphazard in his uniform, white shirt untucked and blazer covered in permanent marker. It was such a rare occurrence for Louis to talk to Harry in front of anyone that he was almost too shocked to respond. That is, until Niall spoke up for him.

“Harry's a lover, not a fighter. Aren't ya, Haz?”

“Don't tell me you whimped out!”

“Go easy on the kid!” Perrie said, scowling at Louis. “Tell him, Zayn.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows, peering from Perrie to Harry, then over to Louis. He cleared his throat,

“Let's go, man,” Zayn nudged Louis' arm with his elbow, “we want to get to The Spot before evening.”

Harry's eyes narrowed as turned to his friends.

“'The Spot'?” Liam voiced the question on all of their lips.

“Yeah,” Perrie grinned, chewing on a stick of spearmint gum, teeth gnashing, “The Spot. It's the creek in the little wooded area behind the church.”

“Perrie!” Louis said, rolling his eyes, “You're not supposed to say where The Spot is, that's why it's a secret.”

“Oh,” Perrie frowned, “I didn't know it was a secret.”

“Well, it is,” Louis said, pointedly.

Perrie grimaced and hid behind Zayn, seeking comfort in the crook of his arm.

“Is that where you always sneak off to?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Louis. “The creek behind the church?”

Louis paused, as if contemplating a lie.

“Depends...” he said, finally. “If I tell you, are you going to tell my parents?”

Harry shook his head, curls falling into his eyes with the movement.

“I haven't told them anything yet,” he muttered, “why would I tell them now?”

Louis looked at him for a long moment, then grinned,

“Knew I could count on you, Haz,” he said, swinging his arm around Eleanor, pulling her close as he began to walk forward, “you're a pal.”

When the other group were finally out of ear shot, Niall and Liam turned to Harry with raised brows.

“So,” Niall said, grinning, “are we going to follow them, or what?”

“Definitely,” Liam nodded.

Harry wanted to say no.

In truth, he hadn't quite gotten over the cruel words that Louis had said to him a few weeks before, accusing him of being obsessed. Not to mention the fact that things had been good between him and Louis recently. Well, better than normal, anyway. Harry didn't want to give Louis a reason to be mean to him again.

“What about you, Haz?” Niall said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You in?”

Harry knew he was going to regret this.

“I'm in.”

With that, the three boys turned and followed the other group towards the church.


	3. To Be Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter involves minors and Coming-of-Age type things. Homophobic slurs used. 
> 
> Notes: This is the final chapter in the younger years of Harry and Louis' lives. The next chapters will follow them into their teens. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the band and none of this is real!

It was evening time before Harry, Niall and Liam made their way out of the woods. They'd spent the better part of an hour spying on the two couples, but all they'd achieved from it was acute boredom and a mild skin rash from unwittingly sitting in a barberry bush.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Niall huffed, dusting twigs and leaves from his uniform as they made their way through the shadowed courtyard, past the gravestones.

“You're the one who wanted to follow them,” Harry said, examining the rash that had developed on his arm, since he'd made the unfortunate decision to take his blazer off before sitting in the bush.

“I had fun,” Liam said, smiling.

Niall and Harry gave him a long, irritated stare.

“That's because you didn't sit in the barberry bush,” Harry said, gruffly, “could've warned us, _Liam_.”

The sky was a dark shade of blue as they approached the gates of the church. Harry had already texted his mum to tell her he'd be home late because he was going over to Niall's house after school, which was a lie, but he thought she wouldn't appreciate the truth: that he'd decided to hang out in the bushes to spy on Louis Tomlinson.

Still, spying on Louis and his friends had provided a few moments of mild entertainment. For one thing, they were all drunk. Harry wondered how on _earth_ any of them had managed to sneak liquor from under their parents noses, but he suspected it was Zayn, since there was no way Louis would risk being caught by his step father. The alcohol was plain, cheap cans of store brand beer, but Harry could tell it was having an affect on them all. Particularly Zayn and Perrie, who attempted to cross the creek by stepping on a path of stones, before losing their footing and falling in.

Whilst Niall and Liam had tried to contain their laughter behind their cupped hands, Harry couldn't help but notice Louis and Eleanor standing underneath an arching oak tree, their bodies curved into the shadows of the trunk. Eleanor had pressed her chest into Louis' side, resting her head on his shoulder. Although Harry couldn't see the distinct features of Louis' face, he could make out drawn eyebrows and tight, thin lips as Louis stared at the leafy ground. Just as Perrie and Zayn's legs hit the water, Louis had shot up from his sitting position and bounded over to help, leaving Eleanor alone and confused in the shadows.

“Well boys, I better head home,” Niall said, stopping outside a small estate filled with uniform, stone walled houses, “my ma'am will be shittin' a brick worrying about me.”

“Me too, I'm the next street up,” Liam said, pointing over to the adjoining neighbourhood beside Niall's, “see you tomorrow, Haz?”

“Yeah.”

“You OK getting home by yourself?” Niall asked, “It's getting late.”

“I'll be fine. I only live a few streets up anyway, near the park.”

“You sure?”

Harry nodded.

With a quick wave goodbye, Niall and Liam turned and made their way towards their respective streets. Harry watched as they both bumped arms as they walked, Niall nudging Liam with his elbow, then quickly dodging Liam's swipes when he tried to retaliate.

The streets were quiet as Harry walked back to his house. He could hear the sounds of bats chirping in the sky, their winged bodies casting shadows in the flickering lights of the street lamps. It wasn't quite dark yet, but it was late enough for Harry to feel a little uneasy, especially since there weren't many people about. It was only when he reached the park that he registered the sounds of footsteps following him. The realisation made the nerves in his body tingle. His heart gave a tiny hiccup as the sound grew closer.

When Harry finally turned to confront the stranger following him, he was immediately struck with a harsh blow to the eye, which caused his body to instantly fall to the ground. Harry's hands shook as he tried to push himself up, but he was quickly kicked in the side and sent crumbling back down into the cold, solid concrete. Harry could vaguely make out the shape of three bodies surrounding him. The sound of muted laughter rang in his ears, cruel and vicious. Finally, a voice overhead muttered,

“That'll teach you to not show up, _fag_.”

When the shadows disappeared, Harry was left alone with the sounds of his own quiet moans on the pavement. He wasn't sure how long he lay in that spot for, but after a period of time that could've been minutes or hours, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. As they came closer, Harry panicked at the thought that it could be the shadows back to brutalise him more. He clenched his eyes shut.

The strides stopped a few metres away, then broke into quick, pounding footsteps,

“ _Harry_?” A familiar voice called frantically, close to his ear. “Harry!”

He felt hands around his arms, pulling him up into a sitting position. Then the sensation of fingers gently inspecting the tender skin near his cheekbone.

“ _Fuck_ ,” The Voice whispered, “who did this to you?”

When Harry finally opened his eyes, he saw Louis' face, fringe feathered onto his forehead in dishevelled swirls. Harry looked around to see if Zayn or Eleanor were with him, but Louis was alone. Probably on his way back home from the creek when he ran into Harry's lifeless body.

Louis winced as he looked down at Harry's swollen face, then slowly reached down and slung Harry's arm around his neck, heaving the younger boy from the ground.

“You OK to stand?” Louis asked, softly, easing Harry to his feet. Harry had never heard him sound so gentle. “Let's get you back to mine, yeah? Don't want your mum seeing you like this.”

Louis guided Harry back through the shadowed streets, until they finally reached the familiar estate where Louis' house was. When they entered through the front door, Louis made sure to open and close it quietly so as not to rouse suspicion from his mother and stepfather, who would undoubtedly call Anne if they saw Harry in this state.

After Louis had dragged Harry up to his room, he gently sat the younger boy down on the edge of his bed and began to take off his green blazer and striped tie, which were both dirty and covered in dust from where he'd fallen.

“I'll get some ice for your eye.” Louis said, gaze darting over Harry's puffy face. “Wait here, don't go anywhere.”

Harry simply nodded, unable to speak. When Louis left the room, Harry took the opportunity to reach over and grab a hand-held mirror from Louis' bedside cabinet. When he looked at his reflection, he wanted to gag. The space under his eye had already started to bruise a soft, violet shade, which looked even worse against the sickly paleness of his skin. To add insult to injury, he also spotted a small twig in his hair, a gift from the barberry bush he'd squatted in. Harry supposed this was karma for not going straight home after school; for lying and being nosy.

When Louis returned, he had discarded of his own tie and blazer, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt to avoid the dripping water that was falling from an ice pack in his hands. When he offered the pack to Harry, the younger boy reached out wordlessly and took it, pressing it to the tender flesh of his cheekbone. Harry could feel Louis' eyes burning into the side of his face as Louis sat down beside him on the bed.

“Hey,” Louis said, “Haz, look at me.”

The tenderness of the words forced Harry to turn his head, eyes drawing towards Louis like a siren call. It was a bad idea to look though, because the moment he saw Louis' calm, blue gaze he broke down into a fit of tears.

Within a moment, Louis' arms were around him and Harry was desperately clutching his small fists into the soft cotton of the older boy's school shirt. Harry pressed his face to Louis' collarbone, unable to stop his racking sobs once they'd been unleashed, but Louis didn't seem to mind. Harry could hear the soft hush of Louis' voice, calming him whilst gently stroking his curls. The faintest smell of beer was detectable on Louis' breath.

“Hey,” Louis said, pulling back, holding Harry's small face in his hands, “it's OK.”

In that moment, Harry had never been more aware of his own appearance. He must've looked so ugly to Louis, with tears staining his face and a runny nose, as well as a fresh bruise highlighting the tired bags under his eyes. He felt disgusting. A small part of him expected Louis to laugh at him, tell him to grow a pair and stop crying, but Louis just held him. The shock of having Louis be so kind to him only made Harry cry more, and so the cycle continued until he thought he might never stop.

Louis, on the other hand, lived by the motto of _laughter is the best medicine_ and tried to use humor to cease Harry's relentless weeping.

“Curly, please stop crying,” said Louis' hand, which was now dressed in a bright red sock with two buttons for eyes, “I'm sorry somebody _socked_ you.”

This was about the third sock pun Louis had made in ten minutes, each one falling flat. However, Louis' persistent attempts to make him laugh caused something warm to settle in Harry's chest and he eventually began to chuckle quietly through his tears. Louis had never tried to make him laugh before...but he was trying now. Something about it made the smile on Harry's face grow.

Louis grinned, pulling himself up from the sprawled position he'd adopted on the bed to sit cross-legged opposite Harry.

“I'm glad my attempts at making you laugh have been _sock-cessful_ ,” Louis said, smiling wider.

“Stop it,” Harry's laughter cut off as he grabbed his side with a hiss of pain, “it hurts when I laugh.”

Louis frowned, letting his hand drop.

“Did they kick you?”

Harry nodded, unable to look the older boy in the eye.

“Twats,” Louis hissed through his teeth, “I bet I know who did it, too.”

Harry could feel the tears beginning to form in his eyes again. God, he was so embarrassed. Not only would everyone in school know about this, but the evidence of it would be on his skin for weeks.

“Hey, no!” Louis said, pulling the sock off his hand as he leaned forward to hold Harry's face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Stop that! I just made you laugh. I forbid you from crying!”

Harry couldn't help it, could feel himself racking with the force of his unspent tears, and it was only when he felt the soft brush of lips on his cheek that his body stilled. Louis' hands were still on his face, fingers resting along his jaw line. Harry was almost afraid to breathe, lest it scare the other boy away.

After a few moments of silence, Louis leant in once again and pressed his lips to the small bruise on Harry's cheekbone, soothing the skin with the pad of his thumb as he kissed the sore spot better. It was the same type of kiss Harry's mum used to give him when he'd hurt himself as a toddler, only Louis doing it made Harry feel special in a way that he never had before.

“W-what are you doing?” Harry asked, a quiet hiccup.

Louis shrugged, then tilted his head to the side, bashfully. “I don't know. I thought it might...help?”

Harry peered at Louis for a long heartbeat, tear tracks etched along the smooth skin of his cheeks. Something in Louis' eyes reminded Harry of a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“It's does.”

Louis exhaled a soft huff of breath at the response, biting his lip to try and keep control of whatever emotion he was afraid to convey. “Good.”

Harry felt like his heart was going to grow wings and fly out of his chest.

“You're silly,” he said.

Louis smiled, then crossed his eyes and pulled a funny face, which made Harry burst into surprised laughter. For a brief moment, they simply looked at each other. Louis was the one to tear his eyes away first.

“Harry,” Louis' expression dropped slightly, as though fighting some internal urge to bite back his next statement, “you don't hate me, do you?”

Harry frowned and shook his head, his young brain baffled by too many conflicting emotions. He used to hate Louis, was almost sure he did, but for some reason he didn't anymore. Couldn't imagine ever hating him again.

“No,” he said, “not even a little bit. I like it when you're like this.”

Louis nodded, the space between his eyebrows pinching slightly, as though he was thinking very hard about something. Harry licked his lips, heartbeat steady in his chest. “Do you hate _me_?” He asked.

Louis' eyes snapped up and for one frightening second, Harry thought he was going to say that he did. When Louis slowly began to shake his head, Harry let out a shaky breath of relief. “I don't hate you. ”

It felt like a lightswitch had been flipped inside Harry's head. Louis didn't hate him. The thought swirled around in his head like mouthwash, disinfecting his thoughts, challenging everything he thought he knew.

“Not even a little bit?” Harry asked, timidly.

“Not even a little bit.”

Louis bit his lip, then slowly wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him down until they were side-by-side on the bed. They lay like that for half an hour, Harry's head tucked against Louis' chest as the older boy gently stroked his curls.

When it finally came time for Harry to go home, Louis walked him back to his house. No words passed between them as they meandered through the dark, winding pavements, before finally ending up outside Harry's red-painted front door.

“Well Curly,” Louis said, kicking the ground with his foot, peering up at Harry from the bottom step, “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Harry smiled, unable to contain the blush of joy that darkened his round, dimpled cheeks, “See you tomorrow, Louis.”

The older boy smiled, then turned on his heel and ran back to his own home.

When Harry entered through the front door, he immediately went upstairs and into his room. He felt elated from the memory of Louis' arms around him, comforting him, making him feel safe. Louis didn't hate him, Louis liked him. Maybe, just maybe, Louis wanted to be his friend now. Maybe everything would be better between them. The thought made a curl of warmth unfurl in his stomach.

It was only when Harry's head hit the pillow that one word invaded the sanctity of his thoughts.

_Fag._

-*-

“I think it looks OK, actually.” Niall peered at Harry's reflection in the mirror of the boy's bathroom, examining the blemish with a critical eye.

Overnight, the skin under Harry's eye had turned from a light dusting of violet to an inflamed purple. When his mother had seen it, he'd lied and told her it was the result of a ball to the face during gym class. She'd looked at him sceptically, but didn't question it. After all, Harry had never lied to her before.

“I can barely notice it,” Liam said, “honestly.”

The wide-eyed look in Liam's eyes betrayed his supposed honesty.

“Guys, it looks like someone squashed an eggplant on my face,” Harry groaned, “it's horrible.”

“Brings out the green of your eyes though!” Niall offered, like it was supposed to be some sort of consolation.

Harry looked at him and shook his head, blinking slowly. “Unbelievable.”

At that moment, the double doors to the boy's bathroom flew open and in walked Zayn and Louis. Louis seemed to be doing an impression of someone (their history teacher, Harry soon realised) and Zayn cackled at the likeness. _It sounds exactly like him!_ Neither of them seemed to notice the presence of Harry, Niall or Liam until Zayn turned his head and drew Louis' attention to them.

A thrill shot down Harry's spine at just the sight of Louis.

A second of silence passed. Then, Harry smiled hesitantly, like he wasn't sure the other boy would return it. Louis' face dropped. The sight of it made Harry's smile falter, lips curling down at the edges like the wilting petals of a flower. Louis made his way over to one of the bathroom stalls, leaving Zayn standing with the group by himself.

“Jesus,” Zayn said, gesturing towards Harry's eye, “what happened to you?”

Harry barely registered the question, still focused on Louis' reaction. What _was_ that?Had he got it all completely wrong? Maybe they weren't friends after all. Harry could've sworn last night that something had changed between them, but obviously he'd been sadly mistaken. When he looked up, Zayn was peering at him curiously. He shook his head,

“Oh, uhm, I got hit,” he said, “Kurt Michaels.”

“Ah, got his fight in the end then, did he?” Zayn hummed. “Tough break, mate.”

“He wears it like a badge of honour, don't you Haz?” Niall said, slapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“I am a warrior.” Harry said, drily.

At that moment, Louis stepped out of the bathroom stall and walked over to the sink beside Harry. As he washed his hands, their eyes met in the mirror and Louis quickly looked away. He walked over to the hand dryer and kept his limbs tight to his body as he passed Harry, careful not to brush him. Harry's face flushed at the blatant rejection.

“When did it happen?” Zayn asked.

“Last night, outside the park.”

“He got jumped,” Niall explained, “Liam and I had already left when it happened.”

“Yeah, otherwise things would've ended _way_ differently.” Louis said, sarcasm dripping from his lips as he stood beside Zayn. “You and Liam don't exactly strike fear into the hearts of beefcakes like Kurt Michaels. No offence, lads.”

“None taken, arsehole.” Niall's tone was sharper than Harry had ever heard it before.

The two boys exchanged contemptuous glances. Louis' mouth was set in a grimace as he stared at Niall, as though daring him to say something else. _Anything_. Harry couldn't stop himself from staring at Louis' lips. If he tried hard enough, he could still feel the brush of butterfly kisses on his cheeks.

_Fag._

Maybe Louis had heard what Kurt Michaels had called him? Maybe that's why Louis was acting so closed off, when everything had been fine between them the night before?

No. No, it wasn't like that. _Louis_ kissed _him_ , after all. Harry hadn't asked for it, and it didn't make him a...it didn't make him anything. Louis had just tried to comfort him because he had been crying, that's all it was. Still, even as Harry repeated those reassurances to himself, he couldn't ignore the tightness in his stomach or the tingling nerves that sent his body into overdrive.

Harry tried to make eye contact, anything to gauge the other boy's thoughts, but Louis remained steadfast in his avoidance of Harry's gaze.

“All right, fellas, let's break it up.” Zayn said, putting his hand on Louis' shoulder, leading him towards the door. “We're gonna be late for English. See you boys later.”

With that, Harry, Liam and Niall were left alone in the bathroom once again.

“I really fuckin' hate that guy.” Niall said, hands clenched into fists by his sides, face red. “Maybe just a little less than Kurt, but still a lot.”

A small twitch in Harry's eye was the only thing that betrayed his need to argue with Niall's statement.

Louis was not perfect by any means, but it made Harry uncomfortable to think that Niall hated him. A few days ago, Harry would have joined in with the defamation of Louis' character, calling him all the worst names he could think of. Now, everything felt different. Changed overnight. The reason for this change was something Harry tried not to dwell on, but it was accompanied by the memory of Louis' lips on his face, touching the bruise below his eye, relieving the pain. The memory of it made Harry shiver.

“Yeah, his friend is too,” Liam said, glaring at the door where Louis and Zayn had just departed from, as though cursing it for allowing them to enter at all, “they're both jerks!”

“Yeah.” Harry offered, reluctantly. “Jerks.”

Only, if it weren't for Louis, Harry would probably still be lying on the ground in the middle of the street from Kurt's attack. Harry hadn't exactly told Liam and Niall about the part where Louis came and rescued him. It felt too much like giving away a secret that wasn't just his to tell.

“I mean, he called Kurt a _beefcake_ , for fuck's sake,” Niall's voice pitched with outrage, “he implied that Liam and I couldn't take him. The both of us, together! That asshole. I mean, it's not like Louis is built like a tank or anything.”

“A twig, more like,” Liam grumbled.

“Yeah! A very flamboyant twig, come to think of it! Not like he's a fuckin' macho man or anything.”

Niall's ego had taken a particularly harsh blow from Louis' comment. Still, Harry couldn't help the small knot of anger that was twisting into him at the direction this conversation was going.

“Hey, you know what the guys on the football team say about him, don't you?” Liam leaned in, a low murmur, like he was divulging a particularly juicy piece of information. Niall's eyes widened with interest.

Harry didn't want to hear this.

Luckily, just before Liam could continue, the bell rang. The disruption caused Liam to forget his train of thought just long enough for Harry to change to conversation topic.

The rest of the day passed slowly, with many people asking Harry about his swollen, black eye. In a way Niall had been right, it _was_ like a badge of honour, or at least it seemed that way to his gaping classmates. It gave Harry a certain amount of street credit, a currency he rarely possessed and he didn't quite know what to do with it.

Agatha waited Harry outside the gates after school, her hair pulled up into a blonde ponytail while she played with the hem of her shirt. When she saw his face, she gasped and covered her mouth, her nails chipped with pastel polish.

“Harry!” she said, marching over to him, “Oh my God, I didn't realise it was so bad!”

She cupped his hands in her face. Harry closed his eyes,

“It's fine,” he said, smiling, “just a bump.”

“That's not a bump, that's a full-blown shiner!” She cried, “I can't believe Kurt did that to you, I'm so sorry.”

She peered at the ground, positively guilt-stricken.

“It's not your fault,” Harry said.

“It kind of is though,” she said, looking up at him with wide, blue eyes, “Kurt only did that because he's jealous. I guess he thought punching you would impress me. Idiot.”

Harry couldn't argue with her on that one.

“He is an idiot,” Harry said, “but it's fine. People think I'm tough now, so there's a silver lining.”

Agatha laughed lightly and grabbed his hand in hers as they walked, falling into step beside each other as they made their way towards the bus depot. The feel of her hand was so small and soft in his, like he could break it without even trying. The smell of her perfume made his nose itch.

“So,” Agatha said, changing the subject, “it's my birthday in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh? When?” Harry asked, trying to ignore the feeling of her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand.

“November 13th,” she said, “I'm thinking of having a party at my house, you can invite your friends if you want.”

Harry peered down at her and she smiled back at him, teeth pearly white, a gap in the middle.

“I wouldn't miss it,” he said.

“Promise?”

They stopped at the end of the road and waited for the cars to pass. While they waited, Harry turned to Agatha and looked down at her freckled face. He tried so hard to conjure up any sort of feeling towards her, but his heart remained unmoved. He tried to hide his disappointment when he replied,

“I promise.”

-*-

Parties haven't always been Harry's thing.

When he was very young, his mother used to throw him the most elaborate birthday parties, with clowns and decorations and outrageously detailed themes that she'd force everyone to comply with. On one birthday, Harry threw up in full public view, in front of all his guests, which kind of put him off parties for a bit. Made him feel sick when he even so much as looked at a piece of cake.

Agatha's party was no exception.

A swell of nausea unfurled in Harry's stomach as he glanced around at the other guests. Familiar faces from school hovered around the floor and against walls, congregated in groups, unwilling to stretch beyond their social circles. Liam and Niall were helping themselves at the buffet table, which Agatha's parents had set up with a variety of finger foods. Harry wasn't sure if Agatha had told her parents that she was... _whatever_ to Harry, but he suspected she had, since they'd cast him a few curious glances when he'd arrived. However, they'd soon retreated upstairs after an hour or so, so that the party would at least have the illusion of being unsupervised. Harry assumed that Agatha had demanded it that way.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself being pushed out of the way by a stocky body. When he turned to see who the culprit was, he was unsurprised to find Kurt Michaels staring back at him.

“Out of the way.” Kurt hissed, low enough for only Harry to hear.

Harry's face twisted as he grumbled a faint retort, but Kurt was gone before the words had enough time to reach him. When Niall and Liam returned from the food table, their faces dropped.

“What's the matter with you?” Liam asked, biting a cocktail sausage from a skewer, “You look pissed.”

Harry didn't reply, but continued to glare at Kurt from across the room. When Niall and Liam turned to find the source of Harry's frustration, they both sighed with understanding.

“Is he bothering you?” Niall asked, “Because if he is, just fuckin' say the word.”

Harry turned his attention towards Niall, snapping out of his hate-fuelled daze, then smiled softly. Even though Niall would in no way be able to fight Kurt (despite what he may think) Harry was still glad to have such a loyal friend.

“What's he doing here, anyway?” Liam asked. “Why would Agatha even _invite_ him after what he did to you?”

Harry had asked her that very same question when Kurt had walked through the front door.

“Apparently her parents are friends with his parents.”

Niall scoffed. “Who gives a fuck? He shouldn't be here.”

“I don't think she had a choice,” Harry muttered.

However, part of him would've appreciated a warning, at the very least.

Harry glanced up in time to see Agatha part from her group of friends and walk across the room towards them. She looked angelic under the dim lights of the living room, flaxen hair tyed up in a ponytail of loose coils, wearing a dress that was a little too mature for her twelve -now thirteen- years. When she reached Harry, she self-consciously pulled on the sparkling stud in her left ear and smiled, a shy curve of the mouth.

“Hey you. Having a good time?”

The question seemed to be posed to all of them, but Agatha's eyes were firmly fixed on Harry's. Something about it made Harry feel like he was performing in front of an arena of thousands. A particularly acute form of stage fright overcame him.

“I'm having a blast,” Liam said, popping a sausage roll into his mouth with an approving thumbs up, “great snacks, Ags.”

“I concur,” Niall nodded, stealing a chip from Liam's plate, despite having a full plate himself.

Agatha laughed. “Thanks guys. It's just a shame everyone isn't interacting a bit more. I didn't realise how weird it would be having people from different years. I guess nobody wants to mix.”

Sure enough, everybody at the party was divided into the same group of friends they would interact with in the corridors of Halls Cross, including Harry, Niall and Liam. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't exactly sure how to remedy the situation, and Agatha was staring at him like he somehow held the answers to all life's problems.

A bell echoed throughout the house, signifying someone at the front door. Agatha excused herself to answer it and when she returned she was followed by Zayn, Eleanor and Perrie. Harry's attention immediately focused on the living room door, waiting for a fourth familiar face to enter. Moments later, Louis walked through the door, dressed in a blue bomber jacket and black jeans, hair meticulously styled into scruffy layers. Almost without thinking, Harry reached up and patted his own curls, wondering if they were sitting the way Louis liked. The way Louis said they looked best. As quickly as the thought entered, Harry banished it.

Like a whirlwind, Louis enveloped the room, changing the atmosphere as easily as the moon changed the tides. Zayn stepped over to the stereo to take over the music selection, providing the party with a mature edge, whilst Louis whiplashed from group to group, making everyone laugh.

Harry watched with a curious kind of amazement as Louis flitted across the room, eyes glittering with mirth as he meshed the social circles together, until eventually everyone was sitting in the middle of the floor playing _Truth or Dare_ to a soundtrack pulled straight from the Top Ten charts.

When Kurt Michaels had sneered at the idea of playing a 'stupid' game like Truth or Dare, Louis' reply had been acidic.

' _What's the matter, Kurt? Afraid people will find out that the only girl you've kissed is your mother_?'

If anyone else had said the comment, Harry was sure they would've been pummeled to within an inch of their lives. Fortunately for Louis, his Class Clown status gave him a bit more leeway than other mere mortals when it came to cracking jokes. Besides, the comment received so many laughs that it was impossible for Kurt to reply without making himself look even worse.

Harry was in awe of Louis. That's why he couldn't help the heavy feeling in his chest at the thought that Louis had barely spoken to him since the night Louis had picked him up from the ground and carried him home, the smell of cheap beer still evident on his breath. The problem was, now that Harry had gotten a taste of Louis' attention, he found himself craving more of it.

That's why, whenever the spinning bottle landed on Harry, he was too distracted by Louis to even notice.

“Right Harry, truth or dare?” Jessica, a girl in Agatha's year with horn-rimmed glasses and a sardonic expression, asked.

Harry's body shifted under the attention of the full party, dozens of eyes fixed upon him. Somewhere in the background, Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream_ was playing.

Harry hesitated for a moment before committing to his answer. “Dare.”

Chatter rippled through the room as everyone discussed what dare would be most appropriate. Ultimately, the decision lay with Jessica, a power she took slightly too seriously.

“I dare you to...wear one of Agatha's dresses for the rest of the game!”

A howl of laughter erupted from the group. Harry supposed he could manage that.

“No way!” Agatha exclaimed, “He'll stretch out one of my dresses! He can wear a top though.”

This seemed like a fair compromise to Jessica.

Harry followed Agatha to her room, where he proceeded to exchange his white t-shirt for a black, beaded halterneck. When he arrived back in the living room, it was to a myriad of wolf whistles and catcalls. Harry fluttered his eyelashes in a faux display of modesty, before taking his place on the floor once again. In the undercurrent, he tried to ignore the sound of Kurt Michaels muttering _fag_ under his breath. When he flashed his eyes up, he noticed Louis across the room, glaring in Kurt's direction. Louis had heard the remark.

The game of Truth or Dare continued for hours, each question and task becoming more risque than the last, until the group became brave enough to ask the most personal of questions. _Who was your first crush_? _Have you ever kissed someone_? _I dare you to kiss the person next to you_. Every time the bottle spun, Harry made a silent prayer for it not to land on him. When it was Niall's turn to spin the bottle, Harry held his breath.

For the first time in the game, it landed on Louis.

Niall smirked. “Louis, truth or dare?”

“Easy. Truth.”

Niall raised his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Really.”

Harry was surprised as well, assuming Louis would've chosen dare given his brash nature. Still, Louis looked confident in his choice. Everyone was silent as they waited.

“OK,” Niall leaned forward, dragging out the suspense. Niall was probably happy for the opportunity to put the spotlight on Louis for once, Harry thought, given their less-than-amicable interactions in the past. “Who in this room, _apart_ from Eleanor, would you most like to kiss?”

A crackle of interest fluttered through the room, before dying off in anticipation of Louis' answer. Harry kept his eyes steady on Louis', far more intrigued than he should be. The faint traces of Louis' lips on the apples of his cheeks felt alive and burning under his skin.

“The person I would most like to kiss in this room...” Louis said, carefully, eyes scanning the circle. When blue eyes settled on Harry, hesitating for the briefest of moments, it felt like time stopped with them. Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and the burning on his cheeks felt like a fire. Then, Louis' gaze was gone. A trick of the light. “Well, they probably know who they are, anyway.”

Harry's lips parted with the words.

“We need a _name_ , Louis,” Niall said, shaking his head, “none of your cryptic bullshit.”

“All right,” Louis said, eyes flashing to a point beside Harry, “Agatha.”

 _Agatha_ ? But...but Louis had never mentioned... _What_?

Harry's shoulders sagged, threatening to cocoon his body into a protective shell. On his arm, he could feel Agatha's hand, squeezing. She thought Harry was jealous of Louis showing her attention, and he _was_ , but not for the reasons she thought. Harry was jealous for reasons even he didn't understand. Across the room, Eleanor looked equally as unhappy, and Louis was trying to soothe her with quiet reassurances. This did nothing to help Harry's mood.

When it was Louis' turn to spin the bottle, Harry's angry pout was pulling his face towards the ground. Then again, what had he really expected? He wasn't even sure. All he wanted was for Louis to like him.

The bottle landed on Kurt. Louis' smile stretched across his face.

“ _Kurt_ , finally, how absolutely _wonderful_. I've been waiting for this moment. All. Night. Truth or dare?”

Kurt smirked, brushing his fingers back through a shock of red hair. “Truth.”

Louis' face dropped into a serious expression. “Was it you who punched Harry?”

Silence.

Harry's eyes shot up towards Louis. Did he really just ask that? Here? In front of _everyone_? Harry could feel Niall's elbow in his side, frantic and excited. From the surprised look on Kurt's face, he hadn't been expecting it. Harry's bones felt like they were vibrating.

“Well?” Louis quirked an eyebrow. “Come on, Kurt, did you? Spit it out.”

“Why do _you_ care?” Kurt asked, finally. “You his Nanny or something?”

This illicited a rumble of laughter from the group. Louis, however, seemed unmoved.

“Too much of a chicken shit to answer, huh?” Louis shrugged, “Figures. Can't say I'm surpised.”

Kurt snorted, then casually replied, “All right then, yeah, it was me. I admit it.”

“Kurt!” Agatha hissed, standing to her feet.

Although Harry already knew beyond all reasonable doubt that it had been Kurt that night, hearing it made him feel like he'd just been knocked over by a train.

“You absolute _wanker_!” Niall rolled up his sleeves, preparing for a fight. Liam followed.

Louis looked like the cat that got the cream as the group began verbally battering Kurt, spewing insults at him like a baying mob. Harry remained seated on the floor, speechless.

“Get out!” Agatha said, eyebrows knotting together, “I mean it. You can walk home. I don't care if our parents are friends. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but no! Get out.”

Without another word, Kurt stood to his feet and made his way to the door. Harry avoided eye contact as he passed, whilst Niall hovered in front of Harry, acting as a small-but-determined bodyguard. Liam peered around the room with wide, brown eyes, like he didn't know quite how to react to what he'd just witnessed.

When Kurt was gone, Agatha sat back down beside Harry and wrapped her fingers around his hand, squeezing lightly.

“I'm sorry,” Agatha said, “part of me wanted to believe he didn't do it, since you said it was dark the night it happened. I'm never speaking to him again!”

The venom in her voice made it clear that she was firm in her decision. She leaned forward and kissed Harry's cheek. When Harry peered up from beneath his lashes, his attention moved across the room to find Louis.

Crystalline eyes wavered on Harry's face, staring intensely at the point of contact between Agatha's lips and the younger boy's cheek. For the briefest of moments, Harry saw Louis' nonchalant expression falter, lips pursing into a thin line, and then it was gone.

Later on, when Harry approached Louis to thank him for defending him against Kurt, Louis shrugged.

“Just playing the game.”

-*-

“Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”

The words of _Corinthians 6:9-11_ echoed around the church, reverberating off the walls, as the people of Holmes Chapel bowed their heads. Some nodded solemnly, as though drinking in the words from an altar cup. Harry's eyes remained fixed on the stone floor, caught in a daydream, hypnotised by the mottled patterns created by rays of light through stained glass. The passage played on a loop in the recesses of his mind. Reverend Tomlinson stood above the sea of heads at his stand, head bowed and brow furrowed in an expression of devout reverence. When the Reverend looked up, he let his gaze slowly travel around the hall.

“Every man, woman and child has sinned. We are all sinners. However, if we repent and take God and Jesus Christ into our hearts and minds, we will be forgiven. We must all remember that it is the Lord God who judges us when we reach the kingdom of Heaven, and he alone will do so at his will. In Jesus' name we pray.”

Harry closed his eyes and clasped his small hands tightly together as he prayed for God to cleanse him of his sins.

When the service was over, Harry exited through the doors of the church with his mother and sister, and his insides felt heavy with dread. Mrs. Sweeney had developed a stomach bug, which meant Bible studies was cancelled this week. Harry would be heading straight to Louis' without the buffer of class in between.

Anne spent about half an hour talking to Niall's mother after the service ended, which meant that Louis and Jay were already home by the time Harry and his mother got around to leaving. Harry hadn't had any time to assess the older boy's mood during the sermon or after, something that seemed absolutely critical considering the current state of their confusing relationship.

The journey to the Tomlinson house felt like a lifetime.

When they arrived, Jay opened the door and greeted them with a bright smile. Her top lip held the faint traces of a Cappuccino moustache.

“Harry, go on upstairs. Louis'in his room, _as always_! Heaven forbid he actually interact with any of us.”

Harry slowly made his way upstairs, familiar with the ritual of his Sunday visits. His heart pounded as he stood outside Louis' room, unsure of what reaction he was going to get. The sermon today was still ringing in his head, causing him to think about sin more than he wanted to. When he opened the door and entered Louis' room, he was more than a little shocked to see Eleanor lying on the bed, her hand on Louis' chest as they both listened to music, sharing a headset. Harry blinked slowly, unable to process the sight in front of him, and he tried to remember if Jay had mentioned anything about Eleanor being there. Did she _know_ Eleanor was there? He assumed not, considering the tied bedsheets hanging from the opened window.

When Harry entered, Louis immediately stopped talking and turned his head towards the door, his gaze followed by Eleanor. Harry felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, taking a step back, “I'll leave.”

“No, don't,” Eleanor said, softly, “I need to go now anyway.”

Eleanor got up from the bed and brushed out the creases from her pink shirt. She smiled at Harry,

“Your eye looks better,” she said, “definitely less swollen than the last time I saw it. Have you considered putting concealer on it? You can borrow some of mine if you want.”

Before Harry could reply, Louis stood up from the bed and said,

“Bloody Hell, he's not a girl, Eleanor. Besides, you said it yourself, it's clearing up anyway, so why would he need concealer?”

Harry's mouth fell open as Louis' sharp words hung in the air. Eleanor furrowed her eyebrows,

“It was just a suggestion,” she huffed, “no need to bite my head off!”

With that, Eleanor made her way to the window. She was about to climb out and down the makeshift rope when Louis grabbed her hand and stopped her midway.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “sorry, sorry! I'm just having a bad day.”

Harry watched as Eleanor's steely gaze gradually dropped and she softened her expression.

“Well, don't take it out on me next time.”

He shifted his eyes towards the floor to avoid watching them kiss goodbye.

When Eleanor was gone, he and Louis were left alone in the room.

“Close the door,” Louis said, barely looking at Harry as he shoved a headphone into his ear and continued listening to music, leaving one bud out to at least give the appearance of politeness.

Harry complied, then walked over to the side of Louis' bed and sat down, not bothering to wait for an invite or he'd be standing there all day. Harry watched as Louis tapped out a rhythm on his legs, bouncing along to the beat. After about ten minutes, Louis finally peered up through his lashes and said,

“Have you ever heard _Hot Fuss_?”

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. It was the first time Louis had so much as looked at him in days.

He shook his head,“What is it?”

Louis sat up from his slouched position and held out his spare headphone to Harry, which the younger boy eagerly grabbed. Harry quickly shuffled up to sit beside Louis, their backs resting on the wooden headboard, before placing the small black bud into his ear.

When the music began to blare through the speakers, Harry winced at how loud it was, and Louis immediately lowered the volume. When it was at a more appropriate level, Harry listened carefully, drinking it in like it was the most important thing he would ever hear in his life. He could see Louis watching his reactions. Harry wanted Louis to know that he was paying attention, would always pay attention to anything Louis asked him to.

They stayed in that position as they listened to the whole album, from the first song to the last, with Louis narrating each track like he'd written them himself. Eventually the older boy ran out of words and they simply sat beside each other, listening to the last two tracks in silence. When the final song filtered through the speakers, Harry felt so happy and relaxed that he wasn't sure how he'd managed to go his entire eleven years of life without listening to this album.

As the other-worldly lyrics trickled through their ears, Harry became vaguely aware of something tickling his hand. It started off as a feather light touch on his skin, tracing his fingers, then became more firm. An acute thrill ran up his spin when he realised that it was Louis' hand pressing against his own, stroking the skin with the back of his knuckles. The sensation caused a shot of adrenaline to stun Harry's system.

Harry swallowed around the dry muscles of his throat, abdomen tightening, and once again he was afraid to move in case Louis stopped touching him. God, Harry didn't want him to stop. He couldn't let it stop. That's why he gathered up all the courage he possessed and began to return the contact.

When he heard Louis' soft breaths beside him, in and out, Harry reached out and curled his fingers around the other boy's. When the song ended, Harry became worried that he had made a grave mistake by holding Louis' hand. What if Louis _hadn't_ been trying to communicate something unspoken to him? What if he'd simply brushed Harry's hand by accident and this had all been a huge misunderstanding? What if...

But at that moment, Louis began rubbing circles with his thumb, smoothing the skin of Harry's hand back and forth in soothing motions, just like that night at the dinner table. Harry turned onto his side and faced Louis, bringing their entwined hands up to his chest as they lay face to face. He'd never seen Louis look so shy, hiding behind a fringe of sand coloured hair. When the last song came to an end, Harry could hear the sound of his own heartbeat humming in his ears.

“What do you think about this?” Louis asked, a quiver of hesitation in his voice.

Harry swallowed. “About what?”

Louis' hand tightened around his, a silent indication. Louis cleared his throat. “This.”

Harry's mind was hazy through the contact. So hazy, in fact, that he found he could barely think at all, let alone give Louis an answer. “I don't know. What do _you_ think about it?”

Louis laughed, though the sound was slightly exasperated. “Nice one, Haz, throwing the question back at me.”

Harry frowned, “I have as much right to ask as you do.”

“I _know_ that, it's just...” Louis trailed off, ducking his head, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. “You don't think it's weird then? That I'm holding your hand?”

Harry licked his lips. In truth, he didn't know what to think about it. “Well, Perrie and Eleanor hold hands sometimes and it's not weird. Why would it be weird for us?”

Louis turned to face him, a strange tension in his shoulders. “It's not the same though, is it?”

Harry felt a sudden swell of anger at the statement. Why wasn't it the same?

“Why not?”

“Because people might...think things,” Louis whispered.

 _Let them think_ .

Maybe Harry _had_ made a mistake. Slowly, he began to extract his fingers from Louis', but was surprised when Louis' hold immediately tightened in response.

“Don't.” Louis whispered.

For a long moment, Harry and Louis stared at each other, grass green meeting sky blue. Then, before Harry could even think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Louis'. It was sweet and chaste, only lingering for a moment before he finally pulled away. When he looked down to gauge Louis' reaction, the older boy's mouth had fallen open, lips shining from where they'd just been kissed. Then, slowly, his face broke out into a giant grin, which he hid behind a pillow.

“I can't believe you just did that,” Louis said.

“Should I not have?” Harry asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Louis said nothing, but slowly let go of Harry's hand and held out his arms in response, letting Harry bury himself in his grasp.

“I'm glad you did,” he whispered.

Harry smiled and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Louis' plain white t-shirt. He'd never felt more content. They lay there for a long while before they eventually began thinking of other ways to pass the time.

Louis suggested they go out into the back garden and play football, a decision that led to Harry lying on the ground covered in mud as the older boy did a victory lap around him.

“ _Louis Tomlinson won the World Cup, it's a miracle, folks!_ ”Louis cheered, “ _We've never seen anything so amazing, he really is the peoples champion! Louis, any words for the crowd?_ ”

Harry groaned as he looked up at Louis, curls matted to his forehead.

“Thank you, thank you,” Louis said, impersonating himself, “I really couldn't have done it if it weren't for Harry Styles being so utterly terrible though. Thank you, Harry.”

Louis laughed as he held out his hand to help Harry up from the ground.

“Not funny,” Harry pouted, “you could've went a little easier on me. That last tackle was too rough.”

“I can't go easy on you,” Louis said, “don't you want to be on the school team? They won't go easy on you on the team!”

Harry watched as Louis walked over and picked up the ball from the other side of the garden, then kicked it over to him. Harry stopped it with his foot,

“I wasn't going to try out for the team,” he said.

Louis gasped,

“Not trying out for the team?” He said, “ _Outrageous!_ You have to! Rule number 5 of making it in high school, you need to be on the football team!”

Harry wrinkled his nose,

“That wasn't on your first set of rules,” Harry said, “I'm beginning to think you're making these rules up.”

Louis chuckled, then slowly approached, darting forward to trick Harry into believing he was going one way, before changing direction and snatching the ball from his possession.

“They've worked so far, haven't they?” Louis said, dribbling the ball around the garden while Harry tried to win it back, “I mean, you've got the girl, you've got friends, you look good...”

Harry faltered at the compliment, causing Louis to dart forward and score a goal into Harry's unmanned 'net', which consisted of an imaginary line marked by two clothes pegs lying on the ground.

Louis grinned at Harry's red, sweating face and put his hands on his hips.

“Why don't you want to join the team?” Louis asked, seriously.

“Because, I'm not good enough,” Harry shrugged.

“That's nonsense, you scored the winning goal for our team in the park that time.”

Harry stilled at the memory. Yes, he had scored the winning goal, he remembered. He also remembered Louis laughing at him, making fun of him, and the memory of it juxtaposed the _nice_ Louis he was talking to right now. In Harry's mind, they were two different people. The private Louis and the public Louis. Two confusing personas all wrapped up into one, tiny body.

“I'll help you practice,” Louis said, running over to retrieve the ball again, “you'll be good in no time. Honest.”

Harry's smile widened at the thought of spending more time with Louis, but part of him worried that Louis would simply go back to ignoring him after today. It had happened before, it could happen again. Harry didn't really know what to expect.

“You promise?” Harry asked.

Louis walked over and held out his hand to shake. Harry took it and held it.

“Promise,” Louis said.

They practised for another few minutes before racing each other back to Louis' room. Louis won, but only because he'd ungraciously grabbed the hem of Harry's t-shirt when they were halfway upstairs and had dragged him back down. When Harry made it through the door, he immediately jumped on Louis, tackling him to the floor,

“That wasn't fair!” he said. “I was winning!”

“Snooze ya lose!” Louis gasped, fighting for air as Harry tickled him. “Stop it, I can't breathe!”

Louis pulled himself from Harry's grasp and sat up straight, leaning back against the bottom of his bed and hugging his knees to his chest. The movement forced Harry to sit up too, until they were both peering at each other, cheeks flushed.

“Harry,” Louis said, tentatively, “can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Harry swallowed.

“Are you and Agatha really going out?”

The thought of Agatha made Harry frown.

“I don't know.” Harry's voice was a slow as molasses. “I haven't asked, but people think we are, so...”

Louis nodded, then turned his head away. The soft, downward pull of Louis' mouth made Harry want to lean over and hug him. The thought that he might have said something to cause Louis to be upset made Harry feel a strange, sudden urge to take back his words.

“You like her a lot then, huh?” Louis asked.

Harry's heart thudded in his chest. Some part of him squirmed with the knowledge that his answer to this question was extremely important.

“She's OK.” Harry replied, tentatively. After a moment, he added, “I don't think I like her as much as you like Eleanor.”

Louis' eyes flicked up at the mention of his girlfriend, then focused on the floor again. Harry faltered at the lack of response, cheeks pinkening as he turned his own gaze towards the floor.

“Eleanor doesn't know how to play Scrabble.”

The words fell from Louis' mouth in a hopeless tumble. Harry's eyes widened at the random proclamation, then a small smile drifted over his face.

“She's doesn't?”

“No, she picks stupid words. I always win. It's not fun when there's no challenge.”

Harry couldn't help the grin that took over his face. A slow tug of lips at first, which then stretched across his mouth and took over his cheeks. He hid his eyes behind his hair.

“Agatha doesn't like any of the bands I like.” Harry felt the sudden need to match Louis' admission with one of his own.

“Really?” Louis smiled.

“Yeah. I don't like any of the bands she likes either.”

“I like the bands you like.” Louis' voice was soft.

Harry held Louis' gaze. “I know.”

Louis returned the gaze for a moment and then, as though burned, tore it away.

“H-have you...” Louis paused, as if doubtful whether he should continue, “have you kissed anyone before?”

A deep line developed on Harry's brow,

“Yeah,” he said, “I mean...I kissed you.”

Louis buried his head in his knees, like he was mortified to be having this conversation. Regardless, he clarified his meaning,

“Not that kind of kissing,” Louis said, “I mean have you _kissed_ anyone?”

Harry felt the air leave his lungs. He'd kissed people. Of course he'd kissed people. He'd given Agatha a few pecks, sometimes even with an open mouth, but he'd never kissed anyone in the way Louis was referring to. Not in the same way boys and girls kissed in movies. He'd never done that before. Slowly, he shook his head.

“No.”

At first, Harry was afraid he'd given the wrong answer. He watched as Louis' face fell, then Louis pulled his legs from his chest and sat forward with a very serious expression on his face.

“Me neither.”

The response shocked Harry, and he couldn't help but show it in his wide-eyed expression.

“You and Eleanor haven't?”

Louis kept his eyes on the ground as he shook his head once again. _No._

“Not properly,” Louis turned his head away, then shyly added, “didn't want to do it wrong, ya know? Make a proper eejit of myself.”

Harry inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” There was a nervous quality to Louis' tone as he continued. “Zayn told me to practise on my hand. Said it would make it easier, but I just felt a bit stupid. It's stupid, right? Not the same as with a real person.”

Harry tried to keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of Louis kissing his own hand. “I imagine nothing is ever going to be the same as kissing someone for real though.” Harry whispered.

“Some of the girls in my year practise with each other. Kissing, I mean. Jessica said she did it with a girl that went to her summer camp. Can you believe that?”

Louis was aiming for conversational, but there was something about the way his eyes refused to meet Harry's that didn't quite hit the mark. Something about the whole thing felt a lot like balancing on a tight rope, somewhere between the lines of appropriate and inappropriate. Harry could barely keep his thoughts in order as he tried to sort through the information Louis was presenting him with, trying to come to some sort of logical conclusion.

“Oh...Really?”

It sounded like something that might have fallen straight out of Niall's dreams, girls practising kissing in darkened cabins, away from prying eyes.

“Yeah,” Louis' eyes focused on Harry, as though searching for an answer to a question he hadn't asked. Harry felt breathless.

When he opened his mouth, he hoped he'd read the question in Louis' eyes correctly.

“Louis...do you think....”

The sentence died on his lips, nerves tightening his throat like a boa constrictor. For one wild moment, Harry thought about the image of Adam and Eve painted onto the wall of the Bible studies room. Eve's smiling face as the snake coiled around her ankle. A wave of sudden panic overwhelmed him.

“What?” Louis asked, snapping Harry's attention back to the moment.

“You could practise on me...if you want.”

Harry's voice was so low, so tentatively quiet, that he wondered if Louis had even heard him. He closed his eyes, waiting for Louis' response, and the sound of his own words echoed in his head as the oppressive silence threatened to engulf them both.

 _You could practise on me_ .

Harry thought about altars and cups of wine, confessions and the sacrificing of flesh. _I offer myself to you_.

When Louis spoke, Harry's eyes snapped open.

“Why would you do that?” Louis asked, quietly. He turned his head away. “Why would you...I'm not even nice to you most of the time.”

Harry shook his head, unable to express himself properly, struggling to find the words for what he was feeling. Finally, he shrugged and said, “You're being nice to me now.”

He could see the heavy deflation of Louis' chest as he let out a long, helpless sigh.

Then suddenly, Harry felt the movement of Louis' body on the floorboards, gradually sliding closer, eyes focused on Harry's mouth. The breath in Harry's lungs burned within him as he held it there, heart racing like the wings of a blackbird against his chest, flapping furiously. He closed his eyes and in a moment Louis' lips were on his.

The sensation was unusual, like two moist flower petals brushing against his lips, then the soft sensation of Louis' tongue asking for access to his mouth. Harry parted his lips and slowly brushed it with his own, returning the caress, silently hoping that he was doing it right. A shiver passed through Louis' body at the contact, which made Harry tighten his hold on the older boy, pulling him closer. This continued for a few moments, their tongues moving back and forth like the gentle motion of a wave, before finally ending in a wet smack. It was clumsy and juvenile, without any of the finesse Harry had seen in the movies. He immediately wanted to do it again.

They stared at each other in silence.

At that moment, the door swung open and Harry's mum stepped inside, causing the two boys to instantly jump apart and fling themselves to opposite sides of the room. Louis hopped on his bed and grabbed _The Great Gatsby_ from his cabinet, whilst Harry almost fell over the Scrabbleboard that was still lying in the middle of Louis' messy room.

If Anne suspected anything, she hid it well as she peered at them from the door frame.

“Harry, we've got to go now! Your sister called and apparently she's set the fire alarm off and doesn't know how to make it stop.” Anne rolled her eyes.

“Oh.” Harry blushed, eyes glazed as he tried to wipe the remnants of the kiss from his lips. He could still feel Louis' tongue in his mouth. “H-how'd she do that?”

“Apparently she burnt some toast.” Anne tutted. “Unbelievable! Can you believe that, Louis?”

Louis responded with a series of garbled, affirmative noises, none of which could be constituted as a word. However, Anne seemed to get the message.

“Exactly, ridiculous!” She said. “Anyway, we have to go now or the neighbours are going to complain.”

With that, Anne disappeared from the doorway, leaving the two boys to say their goodbyes. Somewhere in the compact, untidy confines of Louis' room, a clock ticked.

“You're lucky my mum isn't more observant.” Harry gestured towards the novel in Louis' hand, which he had been holding upside down.

Louis threw the book aside and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. They peered at each other for a long moment. Harry pointed his thumb to the door.

“I guess I have to go.”

There was a defensiveness to Louis' posture as he sat on the bed, arms folded and eyes focused a little too intensely on the bedsheets. Harry felt a flower of blossoming dread settle in his stomach. If Louis ignored him after this, he would _die_.

“I'm sorry,” Louis whispered, chin tucked into the hollow of his collar bones. As though trying to hide himself. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“I shouldn't have...we shouldn't...” Louis bit his lip and buried his chin further into his shoulder. There was something so wrong about seeing Louis Tomlinson looking so timid. So utterly spooked. Harry felt responsible for it somehow. After all, it had been his idea.

“I didn't mind.”

Then, much to Harry's surprise, Louis looked up at him and smiled softly. In a quiet voice he said,

“We can't tell anyone about this.”

Harry couldn't help the disappointment that flooded through his system at hearing those words. Of course they couldn't tell anyone, he knew they couldn't, but hearing it out loud made it even more real.

“I know,” Harry whispered, “I won't tell.”

“Good,” Louis said, “because this doesn't...It doesn't mean anything.”

 _It means something to me_ . Harry thought.

“I know,” Harry replied, barely able to speak over the lump in his throat. He forced himself to act casual. “I mean, we're mates, right?”

Louis' eyes traveled across Harry's face, mapping every pore and contour, every blemish. “Right. So, this will just be our secret, right? Between mates.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, the slow ache of his heart bruising his rib cage, “I promise. I'll keep it a secret.”

And Harry did keep it a secret. He kept it a secret when he was eleven and Louis was thirteen, and he kept it a secret when he was sixteen and Louis was eighteen.


	4. Sedated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Once again, deals with religion, not always in a particularly flattering light so if you don't like that then I wouldn't proceed. Also, this chapter deals with a little bit of internalized homophobia. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own One Direction and none of this is real! No harm is intended and this is not a reflection on the boys or their families. I really don't know what they're like in real life. 
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos and reviews on the last chapter, I really appreciate it! It gives me the warm fuzzies every time :)

 

 

The years passed by like the flickered negatives of an old movie. Louis kept his promise and showed Harry how to play football and, though Harry didn't make the team during his first year of high school, he eventually managed to break through during his second. Louis had insisted it was his tips for surviving high school that had propelled Harry into the upper echelons of the Halls Cross social strata.

Harry making the football team also meant that Louis had been more willing to socialize with him on a regular basis, without Zayn or anybody else growing suspicious. In fact, they all somehow became very good friends. Even Niall had eventually managed to bury his grudge with Louis, a feud they occasionally laughed about.

Of course, there were things Harry didn't like about their 'situation', such as the way Louis would blow hot and cold, pushing Harry away with one arm whilst pulling him closer with the other. For all intents and purposes, Harry and Louis were friends that sometimes kissed. It was not a label Harry particularly enjoyed. There was also the niggling matter of Louis' on again, off again relationship with Eleanor, which Harry dared not bring up lest it send Louis' defences into overdrive.

Harry had ended his relationship with Agatha shortly after she turned fifteen and she'd quickly moved on to Kurt Michaels. A low blow, in Harry's opinion. Still, part of him had hoped that ending things with Agatha would prompt Louis to break up with Eleanor. Not quite. It seemed Louis was determined to keep Eleanor close. They'd even starred in the Halls Cross Players production of _Grease_ together, albeit not as leads, with Louis landing the role of Kenickie and Eleanor the role of Rizzo. Louis had always rehearsed his lines with Harry, though.

“ _Come on, you don't even need to wear the wig,” Louis said, pulling a comb through the jet black quiff that he'd temporarily dyed for the production, “help a brother out.”_

“ _You're not my brother,” Harry smiled wide, dimples cratering his cheeks._

_They stood in the tiny, theatre studies classroom near the back of the school, on a stage that was probably bought from Ikea with a black curtain for a backdrop. They were alone. Louis walked over to Harry, hips swaying as he pulled on the lapels of his leather jacket and donned a suitable 'Greaser' pose. Harry laughed, tossing his head back and immediately covering his mouth to stifle the sound. When Louis began to sing a rendition of 'Greased Lightning', Harry had no choice but to kiss him to shut him up._

However, there were also times when Louis was distant and Harry would have to work hard to pull him back. Sometimes Louis would throw himself into church work, something Harry found particularly out of character, and it would be weeks before he'd see the older boy again. Of course, Harry would see him at the service and occasionally in the school halls, but besides that the other boy would be missing in action. Harry didn't know what preoccupied Louis did during those times, but it always made him particularly uneasy. However, it was never too long before Louis was back in his arms, solid and present, like he'd never been gone. When that happened, Harry never wanted to let him go again.

“It's my birthday this weekend and we are all getting smashed!” Niall said, tearing off his football shirt and jumping into a shower stall, “I tell ya boys, this is it!”

“Niall, I hope you're not implying that you're going to be taking part in illegal activities!” Louis said with mock outrage, towel wrapped around his waist as he brushed his hands through his hair, effortlessly styling the strands, “or are you forgetting that you're _sixteen_ and therefore not permitted to buy alcohol?”

The locker rooms smelled like old socks and wet mud as dozens of sweaty footballers paraded around the mouldy room in various states of undress. Harry was sitting on one of the benches, the only member of the football team to be fully clothed and back in his uniform in less than five minutes. His hair was still wet from the shower and curling at the edges, and when he looked up at Louis the older boy gave him a secretive wink, making him tingle. This is why he opted to get dressed quickly, he thought, lest Louis unintentionally stir something less-than-virtuous within him. In truth, Harry didn't like getting changed in the locker room. It was too cramped, yet too exposed at the same time, and it made him think about things he didn't quite want to think about. Not with Louis so close by. So achingly touchable.

“Shut your face, Louis,” Niall said, voice travelling from behind the shower curtain, “you already said you'd buy me some, so quit winding me up.”

Louis chuckled, then proceeded to whip his towel off and get changed into his uniform. Harry turned his head away, but he couldn't help himself from having a quick peek at the tanned, smooth lines of Louis' body. When Louis glanced up and caught him looking, he grinned.

“Naughty,” he whispered, low enough for only Harry to hear.

“You love the attention.”

Harry was surprised by his own boldness and, from the flushed look on Louis' face, so was Louis.

At the other side of the room, Zayn already had his school shirt and trousers on and was standing in front of the mirror examining a rogue blemish that had appeared on his otherwise flawless skin. The sight seemed to traumatise him, and he spent a good ten minutes poking at the red inflammation.

“Zayn,” Liam scolded, “if you keep poking that thing it'll never go down! Here,” he searched in his bag and pulled out a tiny bottle of tea tree and witch hazel moisturiser, “use this, it'll soothe it.”

Zayn looked at Liam as if to ask what he was doing carrying around bottles of moisturiser in his bag, but he simply shook his head and took the offering without question. Luckily for Liam, he'd grown from a boy who ate lunch in the bathroom by himself into a relatively popular teenager, which permitted him the occasional _Get out of Jail Free_ card for things that he would've otherwise been shunned for.

When Niall eventually stumbled out of the shower, he did so with careless abandon, revealing every inch of his pasty white body to the room without a sliver of shame. When Louis turned around, he yelled and threw his arms over his face,

“ _My eyes!_ ” His voice quavered, a dramatic exaggeration, “ _I can't see_!”

“Jesus, put it away, Horan,” Zayn said.

“It's just the natural human form,” Niall tutted, “you guys are so immature.”

“Nothing natural about that,” Liam muttered, “looks like two stalks of broccoli hiding behind a cocktail sausage.”

Harry cackled, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the room.

“Don't judge, it's cold,” Niall said, walking over to the side of the room and quickly pulling on his uniform.

“Can't help but notice that the curtains don't match the drapes there, Nialler,” Louis said pointedly, signalling toward the shock of bright blonde hair atop Niall's head in comparison to his darker nether regions.

“Thought you couldn't see?” Niall smirked, looking over his shoulder.

Louis gasped with surprise and turned to Harry, shaking his shoulders, “I'm cured! It's a miracle!”

Harry grabbed Louis' wrists and squeezed, grinning. He loved it when Louis was like this.

When they finally left the confines of the locker room, Niall continued to talk about his party, which he insisted would be the night to end all nights. In fact, that's exactly what he'd called it in the mass _Facebook_ group chat he'd created for the event. He'd already made a note of all the things he still needed to get, and had enlisted the help of the football team to help him get his house ready on the Saturday before it started. He talked about the party for the rest of the day, in fact, and when they were all walking home after school, he was still talking about it.

“I think I might go all out and make jell-o shots or something,” Niall said, “what do you guys think?”

They walked along the pavement in a line, causing passers-by to grumble as they were forced to walk around them. Zayn and Perrie were chatting and Louis and Eleanor were holding hands, a fact that Harry tried very hard to ignore. Liam was the only one who was still actually listening to Niall talk.

“I think if you don't stop going on about this party I'm going to suffocate you,” Zayn said, interrupting his conversation with Perrie to specifically warn the blonde.

“You wound me,” Niall said, pressing a hand to his heart, “so, is that a no to the shots?”

“I want shots!” Perrie said, raising her hand.

“Settled then,” Niall said, “also, Haz, do you mind if I ask Agatha to the party? It's just, she's friends with Melissa, and I really want to, y'know, invite Melissa. That good?”

Harry almost missed the question as he stared at Louis and Eleanor as they walked closely together, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes. Louis leaned down and kissed her nose, making her giggle, and Harry wanted to die inside.

“Yo,” Niall said, clicking his fingers in front of Harry's face, “you in there, Styles?”

Harry shook his head,

“Oh, no, yeah, invite Agatha, I don't care,” he said, waving his hand.

“No chance of that flame rekindling then?” Liam asked, wiggling his eyebrows until they were almost touching his hairline. “You and Agatha? Eh?”

At that point Louis turned his head, just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation, and he looked at Harry with sharp, blue eyes. With Eleanor's head still resting on Louis' arm, Harry had half-a-mind to teach Louis a little lesson about inciting jealousy. He could tell that he wouldn't have to try too hard, considering the steely look on the older boy's face, but he resisted the urge.

“It's not going to happen, Niall,” Harry said, resolutely, “the end.”

“Aw,” Perrie pouted, “that's a shame Harry. I heard she still likes you!”

“Then she shouldn't have went out with that _wanker_ , Kurt Michaels!” Niall said. “Having said that, he'll probably be there on Saturday if I'm inviting Agatha. Sorry, Haz.”

“It's OK,” Harry shrugged, “just as long as he doesn't punch me in the eye again. I don't fancy another 'honour fight'.”

They all laughed.

After a while, the group gradually dwindled off as everybody made their way back to their respective houses, until it was just Louis and Harry left. Harry could feel Louis' arm brushing against his as they walked, but the sensation was too fleeting. Harry wanted to press closer.

“So,” Harry said, licking his lips, “what're you up to this fine, Thursday evening?”

Louis chuckled beside him. “The Rev asked me to play piano for a wedding he's officiating next week, so he wants me to practice.”

Harry's face dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, then bumped him with his elbow, “but I'm free after, if you know anybody who's interested?”

Harry couldn't stop the grin from spreading to his dimpled cheeks. He nodded.

“I'll head over after dinner then, yeah?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “sounds good.”

When they parted ways, Harry quickly walked home and sprawled out on his bed. He tried not to glance at the clock as he waited the time in, but he couldn't help himself. Louis was like a drug to him and his addiction became worse and worse with each passing day. He was sure Louis felt the same, but sometimes he couldn't help but doubt. It didn't help that Louis had started to read the Bible every night, a habit he'd developed during one of his MIA periods where he'd buried himself church work. Harry wondered if Louis sought comfort in it, like he was examining its contents to find any clue that what they were doing was OK.

Not that they'd done much. In fact, Harry often wished they could go a bit further than the chaste kisses they were used to. Couldn't Louis _see_ how much he wanted it? But the older boy would always pull back at the last minute, leaving Harry alone on top of his disheveled sheets, staring at the leather bound Bible on the bedside cabinet.

When Harry couldn't wait anymore, he decided to go over to Louis' without having dinner.

When he arrived, Jay greeted him at the door in an apron covered in flour and melted chocolate.

“Harry,” she grinned, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead to sweep away a strand of hair, only to smudge chocolate onto it. “Go on in, Louis is just in the living room practicing.”

Harry could hear the music as it hummed through the house, a pure and rich sound. He walked towards it and eventually found himself at the door of the living room, peering in at Louis. He watched as the older boy sat poised over the polished, black Yamaha, fingers dancing over the ivory keys, effortlessly manipulating the music.

It was only when Louis finished the song that he finally noticed Harry's presence.

“Oh,” Louis blinked, “I didn't know you were there.”

“I was just watching. Hope you don't mind.”

“Nope,” Louis grabbed his sheet music from the piano and stood, “just about finished anyway.”

Harry watched as Louis walked across the living room and began to slot the music sheets back into their book. Something was off. Harry couldn't quite place what it was, but there was a sharpness to Louis' movements as he stalked around the room. Harry tried to ignore it.

“What were you playing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Louis muttered, walking towards the door, brushing past Harry to get through.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. _What have I done wrong now_? When he turned around, he caught the sight of Louis just as the older boy bolted upstairs. Harry followed.

“What's wrong?” he asked, cautiously entering Louis' room.

The bed was littered with papers and Louis' drawers were all lying open, as if he'd been searching for something. Louis busied himself by attempting to tidy the mess, which was really just a way of ignoring the question.

“Louis, look at me.”

Louis sighed and reluctantly looked up, clutching piles of paper in his hands.

“What's wrong?” Harry shrugged, growing slightly irritated. “You knew I was coming over, right? Was it something I did?”

Louis stared at Harry for a long moment, then his face broke and he let out a long sigh and sat on the edge of his bed.

“No,” he said, “of course not. You didn't do anything.”

Harry felt himself relax. He closed the door and walked over to sit beside Louis on the bed.

“Well then, what's wrong?”

Louis glanced down at the papers in his hands, then slowly handed them over. When Harry turned them over and began to read, he noticed the sheets had been crumpled and unfurled. He could barely make out the words on them.

“What is this?” he asked.

Louis smiled sadly at him, “It's a university application.”

Harry's eyes widened, a small smile quirking the corners of his lips, “Wait...Does this mean you're actually going?”

When he looked at Louis' dark expression, his face dropped. Harry peered down at the pages again and noticed that the information was only half-filled.

“You've not filled it in properly,” Harry said.

“I know. I didn't have the chance to.”

Realisation suddenly dawned on Harry as he stared down at the crumpled, torn sheets in his hands.

“My stepdad found the application and threw it away. I had to dig it out of the bin,” Louis smiled sadly, “should've known that would happen.”

The relationship between Louis and his stepfather had grown steadily worse as Louis got older. Harry suspected it was due to the fact that Louis was now eighteen and would need to start applying for universities. Harry had insisted that Louis should pursue his passion for music and study piano, whereas Louis' stepfather had been pushing him to apply to the School of Divinity at Edinburgh University.

It was only with time that Harry began to understand the politics surrounding Louis' relationship with his father. Noticed the underhanded insults, the shaming, the way that Louis' stepfather played on his son's insecurities in order to manipulate him. Louis Tomlinson, always disappointing, never good enough, always getting into trouble.

Harry recalled the opening night of the Halls Cross production of _Grease_ , when Louis had stormed into the backstage area with red cheeks and tears in his eyes. After Harry had got him to calm down and explain, Louis had told him about how his stepfather had cornered him in his room and had cautioned him about the implications of a young boy in the theater. About how he would be perceived by other boys his age. Harry had felt astounded, outraged, but most of all he'd felt scared by the look he saw in Louis' eyes. A look of fear and self-doubt that told Harry that the Reverend's words had planted rotten seeds. It made Harry want to protect Louis, wrap him up and guard him from the world. Tell him every single day that he could be whoever he wanted to be, that he had a _choice_.

Of course, Louis didn't always make it easy, especially when his emotions fluxed between hot and cold with irritating frequency. Harry found it so hard to know where he stood with Louis sometimes.

“You don't have to go to Edinburgh, you know,” Harry mumbled, though he knew it would only cause an argument.

It felt like they'd been having the same argument over and over lately.

“Haz, don't start,” Louis said, “it's hard enough having Nigel breathing down my neck, don't need you doing it too!”

“I'm not!” Harry said.

Louis shot him a look, and Harry immediately lowered his head. OK, so maybe he was a little pushy sometimes. “I just want you to be happy.”

Louis exhaled and set his hand on Harry's, a touch that verged a little more on the friendly side than the flirtatious.

“I know,” Louis said, “and I appreciate it, but I need to make my own decision.”

Harry bit his lip and tried not to argue. It was hard, but eventually they managed to get off the subject of universities and onto more light hearted topics. While they talked, Harry helped Louis tidy his room, and afterwards they decided to practice their football skills in the back garden. They were drawn one point each when Harry took a clean sweep and managed to score a beautiful second goal, just as Louis sprang forward to tackle him. It was the first time he'd ever beaten Louis and he couldn't help but gloat about it.

“Harry, pull your shirt down from over your head, you look like a idiot,” Louis said, a hint of humour to his tone, “honestly, you don't see me acting like that when I win. Which I do. _All the time_!”

Harry pulled his shirt down especially to scrunch his face up at Louis,

“You're the sorest winner I know!” he protested.

“I don't know _what_ you're talking---” Harry laughed and surged forward, pressing his hand against Louis' mouth to stop him from lying. When he risked taking it off, Louis immediately picked up where he left off. “--about.”

Harry felt Louis' body against his, soft and warm, and it made him ache. It had been six weeks since he and Louis had kissed. In fact, kisses with Louis had become painfully infrequent and it made Harry burn with frustration. Lately, he'd been searching for any excuse to get close to the other boy and found himself doing ridiculous things to make it happen. A month ago, Harry had sprained his wrist during football practice and had asked Louis to help him button his shirt cuffs for a week after it had fully healed, just as an excuse to touch his hand.

Harry brushed himself against Louis' body, hard enough for the other boy to notice, and Louis' eyes flicked up to glance over his face. Harry smiled, one dimple showing, and for a moment Louis' eyes scanned Harry's face. Eyes to lips, lips to cheeks, cheeks to eyes. Harry could see a tendon twitching in Louis' neck, tense with hesitancy, and Harry's smile dropped in a moment of doubt. Then, Louis exhaled softly.

“Not here,” Louis breathed, stepping back, “let's go inside.”

Harry tripped over his own feet as he followed Louis into the house. When they passed through the kitchen they were briefly intercepted by Jay, who'd insisted that Harry sit down and taste-try some of the cupcakes she'd made for the church fête (“ _Come on, just one bite. I've never heard you say no to a taste test_!”) It hadn't helped that Louis had side-stepped his mother and smirked at Harry from the kitchen door, casting a teasing glance over his shoulder as he continued towards the staircase. Harry had practically bulldozed through Jay in his haste to follow.

When they finally made it to Louis' room, Harry was immediately on him, hands in Louis' hair as he pressed their mouths together, bottom lip dragging over Louis' in his haste. Harry could feel Louis' hands on his spine, firm and flat, the pads of Louis' fingers digging into the pale skin. The sensation made Harry's head swim, he couldn't think straight, senses overloaded with Louis all around him after what had felt like a lifetime. _Louis. Louis. Louis._

“You're amazing,” he whispered into Louis' mouth.

Louis pressed his lips firmer against Harry's in reply. The force of it startled Harry, but it didn't take long for him to adjust, pushing the smaller boy back until the crooks of his legs buckled against the bed. They both fell onto the sheets. Harry kissed his way down Louis' neck, pressing his mouth against the warm skin, licking gently. Louis tasted of salt and sweat. Just as Harry began to suck on the soft flesh, Louis immediately pushed against him, muttering under his breath.

“Don't. You're going to...Someone might see.”

Harry leaned back and brushed a hand through the curls that had fallen into his eyes. Louis didn't have to say the name for Harry to know who he was referring to. Even the thought of it made his blood roil within him.

“You mean Eleanor might see,” he muttered.

Louis at least had the decency to look apologetic.

Harry's eyes dropped down and for a moment he was lost in his own thoughts. Would it always be this way? Would he always just be a secret that Louis tried to keep hidden and locked away in the shadows of his messy bedroom? Maybe Harry could cope with it now, at sixteen, but what about in two years? Three years? He'd already dedicated five years of his short life to this dysfunctional relationship, whatever it was, and although being without Louis seemed unthinkable, he wasn't sure how much longer he could cope with the perpetual wax and wane of their situation.

Louis' eyes remained steady on Harry's as he leaned forward and reached down to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. Harry's gaze shifted to follow the movement. Louis hesitated for a moment, as if reconsidering the action, then slowly eased the material over his head in one smooth motion.

Harry's eyes scanned over the smooth planes of Louis' body, along the lightly defined muscles and dusting of pink around his nipples. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, so he simply stared at Louis' torso like it was a canvas. A blank canvas that Louis was offering up to him for all his artistic purposes. It was the first time Harry had seen Louis with his shirt off outside of the school changing rooms and he couldn't look away. Harry could tell Louis was hyper aware of this, given the slight tremor in his hand as he held the t-shirt tight in his fingers.

“Just keep it below the neck, yeah?” Louis said, a breathy nervousness to his voice.

In less than a second, Harry's lips were on Louis' sternum, his concerns forgotten. Harry kissed down the soft skin of Louis' neck and continued downwards to the curve of his hip bone. Harry sucked and tongued at the skin, using the opportunity to mark Louis to his full advantage. Eleanor could never have Louis like this. This was just for Harry, their secret, and nobody else had to know. Not yet.

A dull thud echoed through the room at that moment, making Harry jump. Louis immediately pushed the other boy off him as their eyes shot to the door, but there was no one there. Harry gave Louis a confused look, then pushed himself over to the edge of the bed and peered down.

Lying open on the floor, pages spread on a bookmark, was Louis' Bible. Harry's foot must've hit it by accident while they were writhing on the bed. Harry leaned down and picked up the thick manuscript, eyes flicking over the passage on the open page. He had just enough time to see what verse Louis had highlighted before the older boy reached forward and grabbed it from his hands.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being that of their own quiet breaths. Harry knew that the moment had been irrevocably damaged when Louis reached over and began to pull his shirt back on.

“Shit,” Louis breathed, shaking his head, “I thought that noise was...”

His stepfather. His mother. Niall. Zayn. Eleanor. It could have been anyone. This is how they spent their lives, living in constant fear of being caught, and it was starting to drive Harry crazy. Sometimes he wished someone _would_ walk in on them, just once, so that they could stop lying.

“Would it really be so bad if it was?” Harry whispered.

He didn't have to look at Louis to know the answer. It would probably be the worst thing in the world. Not even Eleanor Calder on Louis' arm could cover up such a blatant, red-handed moment.

“Maybe not for you,” Louis' voice was sharp with irritation.

The air around them felt charged. Heavy with the prospect of yet another familiar argument.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry frowned, a twitch of anger making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Nothing.”

Harry glanced at Louis, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed to the floor, mouth set in a thin line. God, he was so infuriating sometimes. Why did it make Harry want him more? It shouldn't. It _shouldn't_. It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair.

“Maybe you should go,” Louis said, finally, “it's getting late and I have to practice some more before bed.”

It was a lie and Harry knew it, but instead of arguing he just stared at Louis before nodding resolutely.

“OK,” he said, “if that's what you want?”

Louis didn't reply, just stood up and walked out of his room.

As Harry walked out of the door, he heard the pounding notes of the piano circulating throughout the house.

-*-

Louis was officially ignoring Harry.

Harry stared across the decorated gardens of the churchyard at Louis and Eleanor, who were both laughing and eating cotton candy from a stick. The sight made Harry feel ill, a low throb in his stomach, and the tension in his jaw made his teeth hurt.

Why did Louis insist on putting him through this? Harry was a patient person, a fair person, but there was only so far he could be pushed before he would crack completely. Louis was the definition of mixed signals. Every time Harry thought they were making progress, Louis would put the breaks on, leaving him vulnerable and powerless.

The worst part was that Louis knew Harry would come back to him every time, no matter how much Louis pushed him away, such was the intensity of his devotion. When Harry focused his attention on something, he became obsessed with it. It had happened when he read _The Lord of the Rings_ when he was twelve, and it was happening now. Harry couldn't help but think that everything had been much simpler when he was obsessed with hobbits and wizards, as opposed to neurotic teenage boys.

Unfortunately, Harry was not one of those people who could hide their emotions easily, especially when he was in this type of head space, and it didn't take long for Niall to catch on to his bad mood.

“You're really killing the buzz of the church fete with that face, Haz,” Niall said, nudging Harry with his shoulder, “why don't you tell Uncle Niall what the problem is, hm?”

Harry turned to look into kind, watery blue eyes, then shook his head,

“Nothing,” he mumbled, unable to help the moody edge that sharpened his voice.

He didn't mean to take his bad mood out on Niall, but he was a natural born 'huffer' and it wasn't always easy to switch off. All around them, people were laughing and having a good time. The smell of barbecue wafted through the air, making his stomach growl. Kids were playing nearby with tomato sauce smudged over their mouths and clothes.

After a moment, Harry heard Niall let out a quiet laugh as he gazed over at Zayn and Liam, who had been coerced into a game of jump rope by some eight-year-old girls. The same sight had caused Eleanor and Louis to lean on each other, throwing back their heads in laughter. Harry felt like hitting something. This emotion was only intensified by the guilt that overcame him for the fact that Niall had felt the need to sit with him on the grass in order to pull him out of his misery, rather than enjoying the festivities.

Harry sighed, “I'm sorry, I'm being a miserable git.”

He turned to face Niall, who was nodding in agreement.

“You are, I understand that. What I don't understand is _why_?”

“Just a bit worried about that assignment we have due next Monday,” Harry shrugged, a blatant lie, “I haven't even started it.”

“Jesus,” Niall rolled his eyes, standing up. He reached out his hand to Harry and pulled him from the ground, “you're worried about _that_? Come on, let's get us some cotton candy and watch Liam and Zayn make tits of themselves.”

With that, Harry felt Niall's arm scoop around his shoulders, dragging him towards the cotton candy vendor. Once they'd both been supplied with an ample amount of pink, sugared web, Harry took a deep breath and followed Niall as he walked towards a wall at the side of the church, where the others had congregated. At some point, Liam and Zayn had managed to remove themselves from the game of jump rope and were now deep in conversation with Louis and Eleanor. They all looked so happy, so carefree, and Harry wanted to slap all of them in the face.

As they approached, Harry kept his head down to avoid Louis' gaze. Unfortunately, the erratic pounding of his heart made his cheeks glow red against his pale skin, a sight that Louis would no doubt notice.

Niall stepped between Liam and Zayn, clapping his hand on Liam's shoulder.

“Liam, you have good skipping form but you need to work on your co-ordination,” he said, then slapped his other hand on Zayn's shoulder, “Zayn, you were...flawless. I literally can't fault you for anything. You're an angel.”

Liam scowled at the criticism, whereas Zayn practically melted with the compliment. The contrast in their expressions was obviously just the type of reaction Niall was hoping for. He let out a loud laugh and slapped his hands to his stomach.

With Harry's eyes fixed to the ground, he could practically feel the tension between him and Louis, making him itch. When he could take it no more, he finally flicked his gaze up towards Louis, only to find that the older boy looked completely unfazed by the entire interaction. In fact, Louis looked positively peachy. The sight of it felt like the final straw.

Fine. _Fine_. If Louis wanted to pretend that Harry was nothing to him, if he wanted to flirt with Eleanor and ignore Harry altogether, then fine. So be it. Harry could play games too.

At that moment, Perrie walked over with her friend Leigh-Anne, the two of them stuffing their faces with burgers. Harry had seen Leigh-Anne around school, but hadn't talked to her much. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so.

Harry altered his stance, a casual hip pop and a soft smile. Something to attract attention. He swept a hand back through his curls. He hadn't tried to flirt with anyone since Agatha in first year, but he'd learnt a thing or two as he'd grown up. Hell, he'd been called charming on more than a few occasions, so rousing a spark of interest shouldn't be too much of an effort.

“Hey guys,” Perrie said, a wide grin on her face, “mind if we join you?”

The question barely warranted an answer, considering the smile on Zayn's face at Perrie's mere presence. When Perrie shifted over to wrap her arms around him and give him an Eskimo kiss, Leigh-Anne looked over at Harry and jokingly stuck her finger in her mouth with disgust. Harry solemnly nodded and mouthed _I know, right?_ This caused Leigh-Anne to press the back of her hand to her mouth and stifle a giggle. When Perrie turned to see what they were laughing at, they adopted poker-faced expression. Perrie eyed them suspiciously before turning her attention back to Zayn. Meanwhile, Niall and Liam were chatting with Eleanor and Louis, leaving Harry alone with Leigh-Anne.

As they talked, Harry found himself growing more at ease with Leigh-Anne. There was something slightly eccentric about her, though not in an overwhelming way, and she was easy to talk to. When she said something funny, her expressions became more animated. Harry found himself throwing his head back with laughter on a few occasions. However, when he allowed himself to look over at Louis, a swell of disappointment curled inside his chest. Louis' attention was firmly fixed on Eleanor.

Harry frowned, unable to help himself, and missed the punchline of one of Leigh-Anne's jokes. She cleared her throat at him. When he looked over, her arms were folded.

“You daydreaming there, Harry? Did my story _bore_ you?”

Leigh-Anne's tone was teasing, but Harry still felt a blush stain his cheeks.

“No, of course not,” he said, “sorry I was just...distracted. Tell it again, please? I genuinely want to know.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, then shook her head,

“No. You don't deserve to know. I'm keeping it to myself until I've decided you're worthy of the story again.”

Harry pouted, which caused Leigh-Anne to laugh softly and touch his shoulder. Whatever he was doing, it was working.

At that moment, Harry felt something bump into him, causing his balance to falter as he stumbled backwards. Around him, he heard Leigh-Anne's gasp and Niall's shrill cackle, followed by a flurry of concern. Then his eyes focused on the face of a tall, lanky kid with a quiff and brown eyes leaning over him.

“Sorry about that! My friend threw the damn thing too far and I had to go wide. You bore the brunt of my abysmal catching skills, unfortunately.” Quiff Guy said, holding out his hand to help Harry up.

Harry grabbed it and felt Quiff Guy's other hand come around to cover his, securing the grip. When Harry was finally on his feet again, he noticed a Frisbee lying beside him.

“ _Nick_ , you tit!” Leigh-Anne said, bumping his shoulder, “Your limbs are too gangly to support you when you run, you know that!”

Nick shot her a cool, side-eyed glare, with an undercurrent of good humour. They bickered for a few minutes, Nick lamenting about the traumas of being a tall person in a small world. Then, as if remembering Harry's existence, Nick smiled at him, revealing two rows of wide, white teeth that matched the creamy colour of his t-shirt.

“I'm gangly too,” Harry said, nodding solemnly, “I can relate to your pain.”

“Hm, you _do_ look quite gangly, actually. I feel so understood. I wonder if you're the same height as me. I bet I'm taller. I hope I am. Being tall is kind of my thing,” Nick said.

Before Harry knew it, they were standing back-to-back, Leigh-Anne examining them closely,

That's when Harry heard the low murmur of a voice behind him.

 _So is being a twat_ .

It was so quiet he thought he'd imagined it.

Harry turned his head sharply and sure enough, there was Louis. The expression on his face was dark, eyebrows and lips pulled down, causing deep lines to form around his mouth. Harry held his breath.

“Nick is taller,” Leigh-Anne said, breaking Harry from his thoughts, “definitely.”

Nick's arms shot up in a victorious stance, “Knew it!”

Harry snapped his fingers and shook his head.

“Drats,” he said, drily, “so close.”

Nick proceeded to hang around with Harry and Leigh-Anne for another few minutes, chatting with Harry like he was an old friend and not just someone he'd randomly bumped into. Turns out Leigh-Anne had known Nick since they were kids, and it was easy to tell that they were close since they both shared a similar sense of facial-expression-based humour.

Nick was loose and wild, the kind of easygoing person Harry enjoyed spending his time with, and his laugh was infectious. Harry found himself in stitches within five minutes of being in his company. Nick had no filter when it came to saying what he thought, too, which Harry admired, if only for the entertainment value it provided.

However, as Harry, Nick and Leigh-Anne continued to talk, Harry could feel eyes burning into him. He knew exactly who they belonged to, and the thought sent a sadistic thrill up his spine. _Now do you know what it feels like?_ Harry thought. He desperately wanted to curb his curiosity and face Louis' gaze, but he didn't. After all, Louis had barely spared him a second glance all afternoon so Harry wouldn't spare him one now. Instead, he toyed with the boundaries of his interaction with Nick. A hand on Nick's arm. A bright smile. A playful chuckle as Nick teasingly sprang one of his curls between his fingers.

“Never seen hair so springy in all my life!” Nick said, “Very Shirley Temple. I think it's a perm. Remember when you were contemplating a perm, Leigh-Anne? You should ask for Harry's hairdresser.”

A loud sigh emanated from beside Harry.

When he looked over, Louis was rolling his eyes, face downcast. Eleanor stared at him with a crease between her brows, leaning forward slightly to gauge his expression. She whispered something to him that Harry couldn't hear and Louis shook his head, as though telling her to forget it. When Harry returned his attention to Nick, it was clear Nick had sensed Louis' attitude. In truth, it was rather hard to ignore. Louis had been tutting and throwing barbed comments for the last few minutes, which Nick had skilfully brushed off. However, Harry could see a tick forming in Nick's cheek, a tiny micro-expression, and he knew what was coming even before it happened.

“You sound a bit tired, mate,” Nick said, eyes set on Louis, “not much sleep last night?”

Louis smiled icily, shifting his stance so that he was fully facing Nick, ready for a confrontation.

“Perfectly content, _mate_ , thanks for the concern though.”

Everyone was silent as they observed the terse stand-off. Niall gazed at Liam as if to ask what the Hell was going on, while Perrie bit her lip at the exchange, staring with wide, blue eyes. Leigh-Anne shifted to stand closer to Nick. Harry felt trapped in the middle.

“Glad to hear it,” Nick smiled, tightly, “maybe we could drop the attitude just a touch then, yeah?”

Louis' cheekbones spiked as he suck in a breath and held it. Harry could tell he was fighting his temper. Louis could be viperous when he wanted to be, possessing a tongue that could cut glass, and it seemed to be taking all his self control to hold it together. After a tense moment, Louis returned the curt smile,

“No attitude here, sorry if you read it wrong.”

“Right then.”

They both stared at each other for a long moment, then Nick turned to Harry with an apologetic smile.

“Well, guess that's my queue to leave. Nice to meet you, Harry. Again, sorry for knocking you over earlier. Here, give me your number so you can text me the name of that band when you remember it, yeah?”

Harry smiled and called out his number as Nick typed it into his phone, long fingers tapping on the keys. With that, Nick grabbed his Frisbee from the ground and bounded off towards his friends, who had long since given up on their game.

When Nick left, a stony silence fell on the group.

“ _So_ ,” Liam tutted his tongue, “not a fan of Nick then, are you Lou?”

“What the _Hell_ was that?” Eleanor asked, clearly irritated by her boyfriend's rude behavior, “Seriously, Nick was being fine and you were just being a..a...”

“Jerk?” Zayn offered.

“Yes!”

“The guy is an absolute idiot!” Louis cried, as though this somehow excused his jerk-like behavior, “Nick Grimshaw is _literally_ the _least_ likable person.”

“You don't even know him!” Leigh-Anne protested.

“I know _of_ him,” Louis rolled his eyes, “and that's all I care to know, to be _quite_ honest.”

Fists clenched by her sides, Leigh-Anne turned to Harry, “ _You_ like Nick, don't you Harry?”

Harry turned to face Louis, their eyes catching for the second time that day. Louis' body was poised like a bow and arrow, ready to fire out at the first person who dared challenge him.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes still fixed on Louis, “I like Nick.”

And then, the bow snapped.

“Marry him then,” Louis muttered.

With that, Louis turned and stomped off towards the woods, leaving the rest of them behind to gossip about him.

“I think he's just stressed at the moment,” Zayn said, “he's under a lot of pressure from his parents about picking a university. You know what his stepdad's like.”

Liam and Niall nodded sympathetically. Eleanor's gaze was fixed to the dense trees where Louis had disappeared, as though contemplating going after him. Leigh-Anne seemed glad of his disappearance.

“No reason to take it out on Nick though,” Perrie said, “that was super rude.”

“He's been _so_ rude lately,” Eleanor muttered, as though speaking from experience, “I don't know what's got him so wound up.”

Harry remained silent.

“Haz, maybe you should talk to him,” Niall said, raising his eyebrows, “he listens to you, right?”

Harry blinked, then slowly shook his head,

“I don't think I'm the right person to talk to him.”

“Please Harry,” Eleanor's eyes were on him, beseeching, “I really think he'll listen to you.”

Suddenly, everyone's eyes were on him, and Harry found himself buckling under the peer pressure. Before he knew it, he was walking through the dense forest, looking for faint clues as to Louis' whereabouts. It was only by pure luck that he happened to hear the sound of a cracking branch, then the low hiss of a curse word under breath.

When Harry turned his head, he saw Louis sitting down on a log, inspecting his ankle. Harry closed the distance between them with slow, steady steps until he was standing in front of the older boy. Louis ignored Harry completely, too busy examining the small cut on his ankle. A superficial scrape that would probably heal in a week.

“You OK?” Harry asked.

Louis' eyes shot up to him, then slowly lowered back down to the source of his pain.

No response.

Harry didn't want to admit to himself how much it hurt.

In spite of Louis' clear disdain for his presence, Harry lowered himself down onto the log beside him. Louis let out a loud exhale.

“Eleanor asked me to check on you,” Harry offered, as though this would appease him.

“Why you of all people?”

It was barbed, designed to cause pain. It worked.

“She thought you'd listen to me,” Harry winced, eyebrows coming together, “shows what she knows, huh?”

Louis huffed, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. Harry fumbled with the sleeves of his jumper, then hugged himself against the chill in the air.

“So...are we going to talk or are you just going to sulk?” Harry asked.

Silence.

“Fine then,” he stood to his feet, “I'll just let you sit here by yourself.”

Harry turned to walk away. He took five steps, then heard Louis' voice behind him.

“I didn't like him touching you.”

Harry was silent. The sounds of the birds in the trees and the whistling of wind through branches felt like drumbeats in his ears. Or maybe that was his heart.

“Good.”

“Is that what you wanted to hear then?” Louis asked, a challenge in his eyes, “Well there you go. Congratu-fucking-lations.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Harry said, face flushed as he took three steps towards Louis, “Not like I hear it very often, OK?”

Louis' angry pout made his lips look plumper.

“I don't know what you want from me,” Louis muttered, “I'm trying my hardest.”

Harry might have laughed if it wasn't so painful.

“I didn't realise it was such an effort,” he said, “if it's so hard for you then maybe we should just...”

Louis looked up, an alertness to his features. After a moment, he slowly rose to his feet. Two steps stood between them. Harry swallowed his own words, acutely aware of the fact that he didn't mean them. Petrified that Louis might agree if he let them fall.

“Just what?” Louis asked.

“Nothing.”

The harsh lines smoothed from Louis' features, softening his expression.

“This isn't easy for me,” Louis said.

“And I suppose it's a walk in the park for me, huh?” Harry folded his arms, creating a shield of protection around himself. Then, after a tense moment, he asked, “Why were you acting like that with Nick?”

Louis rolled his eyes at the name, as though it were a bad taste he couldn't rinse out of his mouth. He shrugged,

“He was just so... _so-_ ”

“What? Loud? Brash? So much like you? Stealing everyone's attention away?” Harry offered, raising an eyebrow.

Louis' lips parted, eyes wide. When he spoke, the words were tentative,

“I didn't care that he was stealing everyone's attention. I only cared that he was stealing yours.”

The words stunned Harry into silence.

Louis stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Before Harry knew it, Louis' body was pressed against his, forcing him to look down into petulant blue eyes. Harry exhaled a shaky breath, then swallowed. God, he hated that Louis could do this to him. Hated that he had this hold over him and loved it at the same time. He closed his eyes as Louis reached up to spring a curl between his fingers, the same one Nick had pulled earlier, as though reclaiming it.

Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips against Louis'. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached his hands up to cup Louis' face, so gentle, as though he might break at any moment. Louis' lips parted at the contact, Harry felt Louis' tongue flick his, teasing gently, before softening into a gentle caress.

Kissing Louis had become familiar, practised, and Harry knew the exact way Louis liked to be kissed. Harry knew that, even though Louis was self-conscious about his height, he liked it when Harry held his jaw with his fingers and tilted his head up. Liked it when Harry brushed his lips with his own just slightly, until Louis was forced to stand on his tiptoes to deepen it. Likewise, Louis knew that Harry liked to have his bottom lip bitten, just enough to sting.

“What are you trying to do to me?” Louis breathed in between kisses.

Harry closed his eyes and let Louis' lips wash over him, down his neck, fingers digging into his waist. In the woods, between the branches, it felt like their own private world. Too sweet to last.

“Just wanted to teach you a lesson,” Harry said.

Louis looked up at him with dark eyes, pupil's blown. The fingers on his waist tightened. “I really don't like to share.”

Harry felt a sting of something in his chest. When he replied, his voice was a low growl. “Neither do I.”

The weight of the comment sat between them, cancerous, threatening to destroy them completely.

“Please don't end this,” Louis said, panic in his eyes, “I just...I can't...”

“I wouldn't ask you to do anything you don't want to do,” Harry said, tearing his gaze away. Looking into Louis' eyes made it too hard to think. “I just don't know how much longer I can--”

“I'll end things with Eleanor,” Louis said, “I promise. Soon, OK? Just...just give me time to think. I can't _think_.”

Harry's eyes snapped back to Louis.

“How does that sound?” Louis asked.

Harry held his breath, reluctant to walk into the same trap that he always fell into when it came to Louis. The problem was, Louis always made promises when they were alone. Promises that became more empty and meaningless every time Louis failed to follow through with them.

“Harry?”

Harry nodded, stomach dropping as he once again let himself fall. He melted into Louis' lips as they pressed against his own.

Even as the words swam around in Harry's head, making his heart soar, he knew they weren't true.

-*-

“OK lads, every time you hear ' _Roxanne_ ' you have to take a drink. Ready? Go!”

Niall switched on the speakers of his sound system and cranked up the volume. In that moment, _Roxanne_ by The Police rang out over the stereo and the entire football team sat poised at the kitchen table, drinks in hand. As Sting's voice crooned out the first word, everyone cheered and took a gulp from their glass. This continued every two seconds for the remainder of the song.

Niall's house was a modest, red-brick semi-detached with two floors. The football team had managed to do a decent job of decorating; tricolour banners and streamers falling from every nook and cranny of the house, along with a crudely decorated cake that had ' _Happy Birthday Nialler_ ' in glitter icing on the top and a frosted penis drawn into the 'a' of Niall's name. Louis had also been true to his word and had rented a keg especially for the occasion, which was now installed into the kitchen. A fact that Niall's parents would definitely not have approved of had they not decided to stay with relatives in Dublin for the weekend. Niall had also insisted that his neighbours were away for the weekend too, so they wouldn't have to worry about noise management. Harry feared that anyone within a five mile radius would have reason to complain about some of the sounds coming from the property.

As the song came to an end, Harry watched from his stool at the breakfast bar as all the footballers tore their glasses from their mouths and swayed on the spot. This particular drinking game had been intense, and the song (chosen by Niall) had been particularly cruel. Harry had decided not to participate, considering he was a lightweight and would've been on the floor by the end of the second verse. Niall and Zayn were in the middle of the crowd, elbows leaning on the kitchen counter as they stared out with bleary eyes, trying to recover from the sudden influx of alcohol into their systems.

The only member of the football team who wasn't present at the table was Louis, who Harry hadn't spoken to since the start of the party. The conversation between them had been stilted at best, before Eleanor had arrived in a sheer, gold dress and immediately stole Louis' attention. Needless to say, Louis hadn't kept his promise to break things off with her, a fact that Harry didn't need to remind him of because it was evident in the way that Louis avoided eye contact that he remembered. Harry didn't know why he was so surprised that Louis hadn't kept his word. Surely he was used to disappointment by now? Yet the pain in his chest was worse. Everything felt intensified, deepened, and he could hardly stand to look at Louis anymore. Looking led to wanting. Wanting led to needing. Needing led to promises that were never kept and crippling disappointment.

Harry got up from his seat and began to investigate the rest of the house. The living room had turned into a makeshift dance floor and Rhianna's _Pour it Up_ was playing over the sound system. Everywhere Harry looked, people were getting closer and closer, their bodies moving in the darkness like pale shadows. The couch had been pushed into the corner of the room to make space for people to dance, and Harry could see two figures writhing on the black leather, hands all over each other as the music played.

_Strip clubs and dollar bills,_

_still got my money..._

After spending a few minutes on the dance floor, Harry turned around and walked through the kitchen, then out the back door into the garden to get some air. A cool breeze hit him as he stepped out onto the patio. A porch light had been turned on, highlighting the stonework on the ground, as well as a plastic table and a few scattered lawn chairs.

It wasn't long before Harry spotted a lone figure standing against the wall, just out of sight of the back door. He immediately recognised the figure as Agatha Crossly. She smiled at him and waved, then ushered him over with a flick of her French-polished hand.

“Hey stranger,” she said, “fancy meeting you here.”

Harry walked over, examining her small, freckled face and red lips with curiosity. It'd been a while since he'd seen Agatha outside of school and he couldn't help but notice how much she'd changed.

Once upon a time she'd been a sweet, shy school girl with peachy skin and a fresh face, but now she looked significantly older than her seventeen years. Her eyes were lined with thick, black liner and her lips were coloured nude, the same shade as her bronzed skin. The bright, burning ember of her Marlboro shone against her pouted mouth.

“Didn't know you smoked,” he said.

“There's a lot of things you don't know about me.”

The slight slur of her words told Harry that she was drunk. They stood in silence for a moment,

“Where's Kurt and Melissa?” He asked, finally, remembering that Niall had invited Agatha in the hopes that she would bring her friend.

“Kurt isn't coming,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, OK,” Harry said, glad of the news, “what about Melissa?”

“Melissa is inside somewhere. Probably dancing. Why?”

She said it with a bite, her blue eyes narrowing. The comment held a hidden accusation, but Harry wasn't sure what the accusation was.

“Just wanted to know,” he shrugged, though he was never any good at lying. Agatha's eyes narrowed further in suspicion. “I think Niall may like Melissa, that's all.”

Agatha visibly relaxed, exhaling a plume of smoke from her lips and nostrils. “Oh. Niall. Well, I think he might have a shot. She mentions him sometimes. Says he's a good footballer and she likes his hair.”

Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure how much ' _nice hair_ ' and ' _good footballer_ ' constituted as reasons for a relationship. However, he figured they were as good as Niall's ' _she's fit_ ' reasoning.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think they'd be good together,” he said, “she seems nice.”

“She is,” Agatha shrugged, “bit ditzy sometimes, though.”

Harry frowned at the somewhat catty comment, but said nothing. Agatha inhaled from her cigarette and looked out towards the back of the garden, then exhaled,

“You look nice,” she said, offhandedly, “really grew up, didn't you?”

Harry wondered if the alcohol was making Agatha a little more honest than she'd normally be. In almost two years, this was the most she'd said to him since the day they broke up.

“I guess,” he huffed out a laugh, “you look nice too.”

He said it to be kind, but her eyes lit up at the comment. A soft blush spread across the bones of her cheeks.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Without having any time to think about it, Harry felt two lips pressing against his own and a small body against his, urging for his attention. Agatha's hands were in the curls of his hair, gently stroking the back of his neck. Harry could feel her mouth open just a fraction as her tongue gently stroked against his lips, requesting access. All he could taste was smoke. Within a moment, Harry reached up and took her hands in his, gently pushing her backwards. A soft moan escaped her lips, and when she blinked her eyes open there was confusion apparent in her gaze. Agatha was obviously not used to her advances being so blatantly rejected.

“Don't,” he shook his head, “I'm sorry, I think you've got the wrong idea.”

She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“But...you said I was pretty.”

Harry almost felt sorry for her. The fact that someone so beautiful put so much stock into one simple compliment from a boy almost made his heart break.

“You _are_ beautiful,” he said, “it's just...”

Harry looked away, unable to explain exactly why it didn't matter how beautiful she was, she would never be what he wanted.

“Is there someone else?” she asked, brow furrowed. Her face dropped. “There is, isn't there?”

Someone else. _Someone else_. God, Harry didn't even know anymore.

“It's complicated,” he said, “I don't really know what's going on, all I know is that you _are_ beautiful and this has nothing to do with you, OK? It's me. I don't know why...”

_I don't know why I'm like this._

Agatha laughed then, a small, bitter twist of her lips. “That sounds like a line to me, Haz. You break girls hearts like this a lot?”

The comment was tongue-in-cheek, but it bruised him nonetheless.

“Anyway,” she muttered, stubbing her cigarette out on the ground, “I better get back inside and check on Melissa. I'll even throw in a good word for Niall, if you want,” she smiled sadly, “see you around, Haz.”

With that, Agatha leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her breath smelt like cigarettes and raspberry-vodka jelly. Just as she was about to walk away, she muttered,

“Lucky bitch, whoever she is.”

Then, she was gone.

Harry waited a few moments to compose himself before making his way back into the kitchen.

The football team had abandoned their drinking game and were now spread around the house. Niall was dancing topless on the kitchen table with the words 'Burfday Boi' written on his chest in chocolate frosting. Melissa was coaxing him down. Harry thought it would be a funny story to tell their future children.

The living room had doubled its volume of sweaty, dancing teens as Harry immediately realised where the football team had relocated after the drinking game. The room was completely totalled, with Liam standing by the stereo, selecting music. Everyone seemed to be having an amazing time, and Harry would've been no exception if it weren't for the low, niggling feeling at the back of his mind. A feeling that would not go away, no matter how many drinks he downed or how much he danced.

After another ten minutes of Harry trying to find Louis, he eventually gave up and accepted a glass of _Absolut_ mixed with lemonade and a hint of lime from a guy on their football team. He downed it in a second, then held out his hand to gesture for more. By the time Louis entered the living room, Harry had reached maximum levels of drunk and zero levels of self control. When Louis passed him on the dance floor, Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him close,

“Dance with me,” he whispered, pulling their bodies together in front of the whole room. Harry could smell the acrid hint of alcohol on his own breath.

Louis' body was tense under Harry's touch. _Red alert_. Blue eyes darted across Harry's face, then all over the room, checking. Louis struggled to get away, arms flinching and pulling, but said nothing. Harry knew it was because he didn't want to draw attention to them or make a scene. Harry didn't let go.

“Come on, Lou, I just want to dance,” he said, pressing his hand to Louis' back. He could smell Eleanor's perfume on Louis' clothes. “You smell terrible.”

“Haz.” Louis muttered, still struggling.

Harry hummed in his throat and held tighter, the alcohol fuzzing his senses. He wasn't sure if people were looking, nor did he care if they were.

“So it's OK in your bedroom or in the woods, but not here in front of everyone?” Harry muttered, and he could hear the steely edge to his own words. It sounded like a stranger. Harry kept his voice low and private as he held Louis' body close. “I just want to touch you all the time, you know that?” Harry laughed bitterly at his own words. “Of course you do. God, I'm such an idiot,” he sighed, soft and slow, deep breaths. “I'm such a fool for you. How is this so easy for you? What happened to the promise you made me, Louis?”

Harry buried his hands into the material of Louis' jumper and squeezed, pulling him closer. In the background, an upbeat cover of _Wicked Game_ played over the sound system, whispering words into Harry's ear that so closely mimicked his own feelings that he wasn't sure what was real and what was illusion anymore. _God, who picked this stupid song_?

They were chest to chest now, Harry's lips so achingly close to brushing Louis' right here in front of everyone, and he _so_ wanted to close the distance. To lean in and steal what was rightfully his to take. Better yet, he wanted Louis to close the distance. Wanted so desperately to know that he wasn't alone in this. For a moment, Harry felt Louis relax under his touch, and he wondered if this would be the moment they finally stopped pretending. Around them, nobody seemed to be paying attention to Harry and Louis pressed together in the middle, standing just a little too close to be friends. They swayed on the spot for a moment, bodies flush together.

Then, quick as it left, the tension in Louis' body returned. Louis peered up at Harry with catlike, eyes.

“Harry.” Louis said, voice low with warning. “Let. Go.”

The firmness of the words jolted Harry into a moment of sobriety and he immediately released. Louis was gone in an instant. Harry watched his retreating form as Louis walked over to Niall -who was now making out with Melissa in the corner- and whispered something into his ear. They both turned and walked out of the living room towards the hallway, Niall laughing and elbowing Louis as they went.

Harry downed another drink.

-*-

Harry opened his eyes and blinked against the harsh, morning sun as it streamed in through the windows.

He was lying on the sofa in Niall's living room, long legs sprawled out and dangling over the arm, head crushed into a corner. This awkward position he'd slept in overnight had done nothing to relieve him of his hangover, which was now coursing through his system to full effect. When he sat up and peered around the room, it looked like a literal bomb had hit it. Party streamers and plastic cups lay littered across the floor, along with several questionable stains. The house was empty, or so he thought, though he could hear chatter coming from the kitchen. He slowly peeled himself from the couch to investigate.

When he entered the kitchen, the aroma of bacon and eggs hit him like a nasal assault and he immediately felt nauseous, yet also hungry. Niall hovered over the pan in a _Kiss me I'm Irish_ apron, flipping eggs like a seasoned chef. Zayn and Liam sat at the table, along with someone he assumed to be Perrie, even though he couldn't see her face because her forehead was resting on her arms. They all looked terrible.

“Mornin' Hazza,” Niall said, a little too chirpy, “how ya feelin'?”

Harry groaned in response, then shuffled over to the table to accompany the other three. Niall just laughed,

“Yeah, you go over there and join the other zombies,” he tutted, “feels like an episode of _The Walking Dead_ in here.”

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Liam asked, a suspicious line crossing his forehead. “It's not normal to be so happy after a night of drinking.”

“Don't get hangovers,” Niall shrugged.

Everyone at the table groaned.

“That is the most annoying thing anyone has ever said,” Harry muttered, hugging himself, “like, literally, _the_ most annoying thing.”

Niall just chuckled and began to set out plates for everyone.

“If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen,” he said, “fuckin' amateurs.”

They all sat in silence for a moment, everyone stewing in their own individual hell. After they'd all downed a couple of aspirin that Perrie had found in her bag, they began filling each other in on the events of the night before.

“You _kissed_ Agatha?” Zayn asked, eyes wide. “ _When_?”

Harry pursed his lips, trying to think back through the night. If the party started at eight, then he'd have been in the garden with Agatha around...

“I don't know, maybe midnight? I can't remember, to be honest. I was a little drunk by that point, and so was she.”

Zayn whistled.

“Better hope Kurt doesn't find out,” Liam said, “that'll be another black eye for you, Haz.”

“Or a funeral,” Niall said, “have you seen Kurt lately? Fuck, I wouldn't kiss his bird. He's built like a truck.”

“Not helping, Niall,” Harry said, “besides, I don't think she'll tell him. She probably regrets it too much. Also, I doubt she meant anything by it, I mean, she was drunk.”

“Drunk hearts are honest hearts,” Perrie said, “I told Zayn I liked him when I was drunk, didn't I?”

Perrie looked at Zayn with happy, smiling eyes.

“You weren't drunk, Pez, you had an accidental sip of wine at your parents Christmas party and sent me a text. You were twelve,” Zayn replied, though his eyes were fond, “was cute though.”

“Still honest,” Perrie shrugged, then turned to Harry, “I think Agatha still likes you. I don't think she ever stopped, actually.”

Harry let the words sink in for a moment. They sat uncomfortably on him.

At that moment, Niall declared that breakfast was ready. They all watched as the Irish boy walked around the table, sidling their plates full with a variety of fatty foods. They continued to chat while they ate, and it wasn't long before somebody brought up the noticeable absence at the table.

“Hey, where's Tommo?” Liam asked, brow furrowed, “He go home?”

A dirty grin passed over Niall's face as all eyes around the table focused on him. Harry felt a chill pass through his spine at the expression.

“No, he didn't go home,” Niall said steadily, trying to keep all amusement from his voice and failing miserably.

Of course, this perked everyone's interest, and it wasn't long before Zayn, Liam and Perrie were demanding full disclosure. Niall relished being the holder of the gossip.

“Settle down, ye vultures!” he chided.

“Well what _is_ it? Come on!” Perrie whined, “I want to know.”

“Yeah, cough up!” Liam said, “Spill the details.”

“Yeah, where's Tommo?” Zayn asked.

At that moment, as if in answer to the question, the kitchen door slowly creaked open and in walked Louis. His hair was disheveled, a furry mass on top of his head, and his eyes were sharp and focused as they took in the room. Niall wiggled his eyebrows as Louis trudged over to the breakfast bar and helped himself to the leftover eggs and bacon.

“Well hello there, you animal you,” Niall said, his voice teasing, “how are _you_ feeling today? Or do I even have to ask?”

Something about the way Niall was speaking to Louis and the way Louis was evading Harry's gaze made Harry feel terribly uneasy. The room fell silent as they all peered at Louis, then suddenly the tension broke as everyone exchanged looks of immediate understanding. Zayn and Liam grinned from their seats, while Perrie giggled behind her hand,

“Oh my _GOD_!” Perrie laughed.

“Tommo, you dog.” Zayn chided.

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't even bring himself to pretend, such was the feeling of pain that twisted his heart to shreds. It couldn't be what he thought, it just couldn't be...so then why was Niall goading Louis with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk? Like he knew it for a fact. More so, why was Louis not denying it?

Harry tried to make eye contact with Louis just once. Once would be enough to determine whether he was just keeping up a macho bravado in front of 'the boys', or if he really had done something from which there would be no going back. However, Harry didn't have time to make eye contact, because the next second Eleanor walked into the room in the t-shirt Louis had worn the night before, and that was all the answer he needed.

Eleanor immediately received the same reaction from the table, and she laughed about it with a demure shyness as she attached herself to Louis' side. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered if she'd seen the mark he'd left on Louis' hip bone. Louis probably told her it was a bruise from football practice. Harry's stomach lurched.

“Harry, you OK?” Perrie asked, eyes concerned, “You look a little--”

At that moment, Harry leaped up from the table, covering his mouth as he bolted through the kitchen and made his way towards the bathroom. Behind him, he heard Niall mutter _fuckin' amateur_ one more time as he fled the room.

As Harry emptied the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl, he couldn't help but think about the things that were bad for him, and how he would have to purge himself of all the toxins until not a drop was left.

-*-


	5. My Love Will Never Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got it updated! Once again, thank you for all the comments and Kudos, I appreciate it so much. I know this story is very angst-y and Harry and Louis don't get much peace, but nothing worth having comes easy :)

-*-

After Niall's party, Harry made a conscious decision to try and walk away from this masochistic relationship with Louis. Louis would never choose to be with him, Harry realised, he was just another pit stop along the way. Some kind of sick, twisted 'fuck you' to Louis' stepfather. Another wild oat for Louis to sow before he settled down with Eleanor.

It wasn't easy for Harry to let go, though. In fact, it was so painful that Harry almost started to consider whether or not it would be such a bad thing to trundle along as the third wheel in Louis' relationship with Eleanor. That is, until he'd almost walked into themone day in Tesco's and had knocked over a display stand in his haste to get away from them as quickly as possible. Harry could never share Louis with someone else. Not now. The very thought of it drove him mad. He wasn't sure how he'd coped with it for so long, in fact.

It had been on the walk back home from Tesco's that day that Harry had noticed the guitar in the window of Marshall's Music in Holmes Chapel. The tiny shop had had a few stands of musical instruments near the back, along with two grand pianos and a few music magazines, but it was the guitars that Harry had been drawn to. One guitar in particular stood out to him, an Epiphone Les Paul painted in vintage starburst, which had hung on the wall beside a Thunderbird and a Flying-V. Harry wanted that guitar.

Three weeks later, he used his savings to buy it.

Every free moment Harry had from that point on was used to practice guitar, day in and day out. Music gave Harry the power to express himself in a way that nothing else could, and his creativity flourished. He'd always envied Louis' ability to play the piano, had always wanted something of his own to pour himself into so completely, and now he had it. It wasn't long before he was writing songs of his own, stringing together simple chords accompanied by a catchy melody. There was something exhilarating about creating something from nothing in that way.

Harry had even started practising guitar during lunch, which had doubled as another excuse not to have to sit with Louis and pretend everything was fine between them. In truth, he wasn't sure if anyone noticed that he and Louis weren't talking, since they both did such a fine job of pretending like they were OK. Of course, Louis had been much better at feigning his emotions than Harry, so they would both politely laugh in the right places and say a few muttered words to each other when and if required, but for the most part they ignored each other. Louis had not even attempted to approach Harry since Niall's party, not even to explain himself, and Harry hadn't either. It seemed to stem from a mutual understanding that the other did not want to talk about it.

Harry had even started to avoid going to church on Sunday's, a habit that his mother deeply disapproved of. Of course she would never make him go, but he had seen it in her cool expression when she'd asked him why he didn't want to. Harry had just shrugged. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he just wasn't sure what he believed anymore. Wasn't sure if the God that Louis seemed to be putting all his faith into was really the kind of God that he wanted to devote his faith to.

Of course, just because Harry hadn't spoken to Louis didn't mean he hadn't noticed him. It became clear quite quickly that Louis was throwing himself into the church. Harry had not been surprised when Niall brought up how much time Louis had been spending with Mrs. Sweeney, co-teaching her Bible studies class, or how zealously he had been practising his piano for the church services. It was such a far cry from the Louis he knew that Harry couldn't help but feel like he had lost him completely.

As the months passed, Harry and Louis stopped interacting altogether.

Harry had thrown himself into school work and guitar, and had eventually managed to start playing small gigs in under age venues. Niall even stepped up to offer to play drums for Harry. The Irish boy had described his relationship with the drums as 'dabbling', yet when he'd played in front of Harry for the first time, it had felt like Harry's head was going to blow off his shoulders. Niall had skills.

Still, it hadn't been entirely smooth sailing. In an effort to extend some sort of olive branch (or maybe because he had missed him so badly he'd succumbed to a moment of weakness) Harry had decided to invite Louis and Eleanor -along with the rest of the gang- to a small gig he'd managed to secure for an under-age club called _Flirty._ Louis hadn't shown up. The gig sucked.

Harry stopped trying after that.

That's why it was particularly strange when, two weeks before the Summer holidays were set to begin, Harry woke up from an evening nap to a missed message on his phone. He blinked his eyes slowly as he opened it and skimmed over the short, one-line text.

_Hey...can we talk?_

His eyes almost sprang out of his head when he seen who it was from.

_Louis._

It had been so long since that name had popped up on his phone that the sight of it elicited a physical reaction from Harry. His thumbs trembled as he tried to type out a message, but he kept spelling simple words wrong. Finally, he opted for the shortest reply he could think of.

_Yes._

He hit send and left it to Louis to organise the rest. In less than ten seconds, Louis replied. Harry hated the fact that it sent a thrill down his spine to think of the older boy sitting by his phone, waiting for him to respond. After months of almost zero communication, Louis Tomlinson was still under his skin.

_Can we meet somewhere? I don't want to talk in my house or your house. Can you walk to the park beside Halls Cross? It'll be quiet there._

Harry looked out the window at the sky, which was turning a dark shade of blue. He wondered whether or not it was a good idea to meet Louis, but before he could think of all the reasons he shouldn't, his phone buzzed again.

_Please Harry._

His heart clenched and he immediately grabbed his coat.

_I'll be there in ten._

The squeaking of swings rang through the air as the park came into view. The darkness created shadows on the ground and it was only when Harry reached the outskirts of the park that he saw Louis. The older boy was sitting on a swing, face to the ground as he trailed the toe of his _Adidas_ trainer into the loose gravel. A crunch sounded under Harry's foot as he approached, signifying his presence, and the sound immediately drew Louis' attention.

Harry had forgotten what it felt like to have those eyes on him. They were dark under the evening sky, the icy blue swapped for a more tempered colour, but they were still so sharp. So completely focused on Harry. It made Harry swallow down hard, an attempt to dislodge the nervous lump in his throat.

“Hey,” Harry said, walking over slowly.

Louis immediately stood up from the swing.

“Hi. Thanks for coming.”

Harry stopped when they were face-to-face, expression neutral. Despite the twinge of adrenaline that Louis' presence shot through his system, Harry was still angry with him. So very, very angry.

“You said you wanted to talk. I'm here to listen. So talk.”

“Wow,” Louis said, laughing lightly. It was a hollow sound, “OK, fair enough.”

Louis let out a long, drawn-out sigh, then slowly turned and sat on the swing again, silently inviting Harry to follow. As he took a seat, Harry peered at Louis with a furrowed brow. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, Louis whispered,

“I got into The School of Divinity at Edinburgh.”

Harry blinked slowly as his mind digested the information.

“I got the confirmation e-mail this morning,” Louis said, “I got accepted. All I need to do now is pass my exams.”

Louis would pass his exams. Harry was more sure of it than anything in his entire life. This was it. Louis really was leaving.

“Oh.”

It was all Harry could manage.

“I just wanted to tell you first,” Louis cleared his throat, “just in case, y'know, you heard it from the other boys. I wanted to tell you first.”

There was a heaviness to his words, like they expressed something more than what was being said.

“Congratulations then, I guess,” Harry said, trying to force a smile, “I'm really happy for you, if that's what you want.”

“It is,” he said, nodding, looking out into the distance, “I think it is.”

A silence fell between them. Louis broke it.

“I'm sorry for everything...I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted.”

Louis could probably fill a songbook with his apologies. It still didn't help. Harry wanted to scoff, to hurt Louis the way Harry had been hurt himself, but he couldn't find the words.

“I really want to do this, Haz,” Louis said, passionately, “I want to do something right for once.”

Harry stared at the ground, frowning. The implication that what had transpired between them was something 'wrong' in Louis' eyes made Harry's heart drop into his stomach. From the corner of his eye, he was aware that Louis was staring at him.

“Why did you want to tell me?” Harry asked, finally. Not knowing what else to say. “Shouldn't you be telling Eleanor?”

Harry took a sadistic glee in the way Louis' body tensed, chin falling to his chest like he wanted to bury himself in a cocoon. Harry didn't have to tell Louis he'd fucked up. Louis already knew.

Silence endured. So quiet you could almost hear a pin drop. For a moment, Harry thought Louis would say something. Some grand declaration of undying love. It was stupid and idiotic, proving once more how much of a lovesick fool Harry was. Of course, Louis just sighed.

“I never meant to hurt you. You're my best friend, Haz. Always have been.”

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he fought the urge to scream at Louis.

“Friends don't hurt friends the way you've hurt me.” Harry said, voice calm. An eye in the storm of his thoughts. “Friends don't kiss friends. Friends don't humiliate friends. Friends don't fuck their girlfriend and feel guilty afterwards for upsetting their _friend_. So please Louis, don't _'friend_ ' me. _”_

Louis' head whipped around, surprise evident in his eyes at hearing meek, milky Harry speak so candidly. So bitterly. Somewhere along the way, Harry had developed a back bone. One he should have developed long ago. Louis searched Harry's eyes, but only blank pools stared back at him. Harry felt numb.

“ _Harry..._ ” Louis whispered, a quiet desperation in his voice that matched the look in his eyes.

“Is that all?” Harry's voice was tired, drained of all energy. He just wanted to go home.

When he turned his head, Louis stared back at him with wide eyes. Slowly, Louis nodded, and Harry immediately stood to his feet and walked away.

Louis didn't even try to follow.

-*-

When Summer finally hit Holmes Chapel, the days trickled by like hot treacle melting on the pavement, quickly bubbling away until one morning Harry woke up and it was nearly the end of August.

It had been a memorable few months, which Harry had spent enjoying with all the people he loved most in the world. He and Niall had spent a lot of time perfecting their sound with regular summer jam sessions, and Harry liked to think they could now pass for a relatively _good_ two-man-band (“We're like The White Stripes over here!” According to Niall). Not to mention that they'd managed to get a decent tan for once, which was fairly a-typical for the normally dismal British whether. Yes, they'd all had a good Summer, and it seemed like everyone had made the conscious effort to make it special, since Zayn, Perrie and Louis would all be flying off to their respective universities come September.

When results morning finally rolled around, all the final years congregated around the school gates with envelopes in their hands.

Perrie and Zayn stood side by side against the bars, while Harry, Niall and Liam gathered around them with looks of silent encouragement. Perrie was practically hyperventilating. Around them, sounds of cheers and congratulations rang out for those who had done well, while the ones who hadn't wore their disappointment on their faces like a tragedy mask.

“I can't do it,” Perrie said, thrusting the envelope into Zayn's chest, “you open it for me.”

“ _Me_? Babe, I have my own results to worry about,” Zayn said, passing the envelope to Liam, “you open it for her, mate.”

“I feel uncomfortable with this responsibility,” Liam said, eyes focused on the letter before he calmly handed it to Harry, “you do it, Haz.”

“Perrie, I think you might want to open it yourself,” Harry reasoned, passing it back to the blonde, “you'll feel better about it if you do. Come on, just rip it open, like a band aid.”

“Wait a second,” Niall suddenly piped up, “shouldn't we wait for Tommo? Where is he?”

“He and Eleanor have already picked theirs up. I think they wanted to open them together,” Zayn said, “so much for the lads!”

Everyone laughed at Zayn's pointed reference to Louis, who always went on about 'the lads sticking together'.

“Right, well, fuck them!” Niall said, slapping his hands together, “Time to see if you guys are going to Uni or joining the band with me and Haz.”

Niall had recently began teasing everyone that he and Harry were going to quit school and become full-time musicians. They could tour all the time, fuck girls on their tour bus and then become World famous, before growing to hate each other and releasing a tell-all _E_! _Special_ about the dangers of being in a rock band. Harry thought it sounded like the best idea he'd ever heard. Apart from the hating each other bit, of course.

“You guys have two more years left, you're not quitting!” Perrie scolded.

Perrie was beginning to sound like his mum. Any time Harry even _suggested_ the idea that he might not go back to school, his mother would start lecturing him about how good his GCSE results were and how it would be a waste of brains not to go back. Harry wasn't sure what he wanted. He also wasn't sure if it mattered.

At that moment, Perrie and Zayn turned to look at each other with wide, frightened eyes.

“You ready?” Zayn asked.

“Yeah,” Perrie said, biting her lip.

“OK, after three. One...two....three.”

They both tore open the results letters and their eyes scanned the page. Harry could hear their hearts pounding beneath the fabric of their t-shirts, and he couldn't stop his heart from twitching with empathy.

“I did it,” Zayn finally whispered, “I'm going to University of Brighton!”

They all let out a cheer and immediately gathered in to clutch Zayn in a group hug. However, it wasn't until they all stepped back that they noticed the sad look on Perrie's face.

“I didn't get the mark I needed in Geography,” Perrie said, giving them a sad smile, “I knew it went badly.”

“Oh shit, Pez,” Liam stepped forward and pressed a hand to her arm, squeezing, “we're so sorry.”

“It's not a big deal,” Zayn said, trying to be encouraging, “seriously babe, tests don't matter.”

“I still have the marks to go to Canterbury,” Perrie shrugged, “that's something.”

“That's amazing,” Harry said, “see, it's not the end of the World.”

Perrie smiled, though her hunched body looked a bit like a deflated balloon.

“I know, I guess I'm just disappointed. It'll be good, I'll be fine,” she said, as if trying to convince herself, “I'm just so happy for you, Zayn.”

They all formed a circle and tightened themselves into a group hug. Harry felt oddly emotional, like this was finally it. They were definitely leaving, Zayn was definitely going to Brighton and Perrie could be on her way to Canterbury. And Louis...

_Louis._

Harry didn't even want to know if Louis had passed his exams.

“Somebody call Louis and ask how he did,” Zayn said, finally, “I forgot my phone at home.”

Liam immediately pulled out his phone, dialled Louis' number and pressed it to his ear. No response.

“Shit, either it's good news and he can't be fucked answering or it's not good news...”

“Tommo definitely passed,” Zayn said, as if there was no other option, “that guy always comes up smelling of roses.”

“I don't know, Zayn,” Perrie scrunched up her nose, “I never saw him studying. In free period he always used to draw on his notebooks and listen to music. I can't remember seeing him actually study.”

“Trust me,” Zayn gave her a knowing look, “come September, Louis will be in Edinburgh. The kid does everything he sets his mind to.”

“Still can't imagine Louis being a minister,” Niall said, “it's just not right.”

Zayn nodded, then slowly replied,

“I've known Louis since I was no age and his stepfather puts _so_ much pressure on him. Louis has always felt like a disappointment to him, even though you'd never hear him say it. I think he just wants to do this to prove he's not a complete fuck up.”

Harry's eyes snapped shut as Louis' words echoed in his head.

_I really want to do this right, Haz....I want to do something right for once._

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry tried to paste a smile onto his face as the rest of the group began discussing what they'd do to celebrate.

“I say we grab some drinks and go down to the creek to celebrate later,” Zayn said, “it'll be just like old times! I'll call Tommo later and sort out the details.”

A surge of agreement erupted from the rest of them.

“Yes! I'm so up for that,” Niall said, “I'll even invite Melissa.”

“Oh! You'll invite _Melissa_ , will you?” Liam wiggled his eyebrows, “Sounds like it's getting serious.”

Niall blushed, a dark plum shade on his pasty cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up, would ye,” he said, “have barely spoken to her since my birthday, hardly _serious._ ”

Still, the way his breath hitched when her name was brought up told a different story.

“Whatever you say,” Liam said, continuing to wiggle his eyebrows.

Niall just grumbled and walked away, leaving everyone else laughing at his surly temperament. Harry had never seen the blonde so wound up about a girl before.

“He is so whipped,” Zayn shook his head, “poor little leprechaun.”

“I've never seen him like this. It's weird.” Perrie said.

“I guess that's love, Perrie,” Liam nodded, his expression way too serious, “it does strange things to strange people.”

“The strangest,” Perrie dead panned.

After that, they all decided to go grab lunch to calm their nerves after the stressful morning they'd had.

While Liam, Perrie and Zayn chatted and laughed over greasy burgers about what the future would hold, Harry could barely rustle up an appetite. He couldn't stop thinking about Louis, about whether or not he'd opened his results envelope, and it made his stomach twist into knots. Harry wanted to message Louis and ask him directly if he'd got the results he needed, but he was too afraid of the answer. Also, he hadn't spoken directly to Louis since their stilted conversation in the park, and they weren't exactly in a place where Harry could text Louis and expect an answer. So instead, Harry just sat in silence and bit his lip, hoping he could contain his frustration.

_-*-_

The creek looked so much different by moonlight.

Crickets chirped in the darkness and the whistle of the slight breeze through the trees was only disrupted by the sound of Niall's incessant wailing as he sang Van Morrison's _Into the Mystic_ at an obnoxiously loud volume. Harry supposed he couldn't be too judgemental though, since he was actively encouraging Niall's singing by playing the simple chords of the song on his guitar, which he'd brought to the creek as a last minute decision. _To create atmosphere_ , he'd explained.

They were now all sitting together beside the creek, quietly enjoying the late night sing-a-long. Perrie was sitting with her back against Zayn's chest as he held her around the waist, his face in her hair, and Niall was seated beside Harry on the stump of the tree while he serenaded Melissa with drunken abandon. She seemed to love it. Louis and Eleanor hadn't arrived yet, and it was beginning to cause Harry a lot of anxiety. Nobody had heard from him all day.

It was just as Niall was hitting the third verse that Harry heard a rustle in the trees. When Louis appeared, he felt his heart clench in his chest.

Upon seeing Louis' face, everybody paused. Even Harry couldn't find it in himself to continue playing. The silence that fell was palpable. Harry couldn't see Louis' expression from the shadow of the trees. Then, in a voice so quiet Harry could hardly hear, Louis said,

“I passed.”

With that, they all rose to their feet and ran towards Louis to wrap him up into a congratulatory hug.

“That's amazing, Lou!”

“Fuckin' Ace, knew you could do it!”

“Scotland better get ready! Tommo's coming to town!”

Harry stayed back. When the group separated, he caught Louis' eye, and they both held each other's gaze while Liam, Niall, Zayn and Perrie continued to cajole him with pats on the back and words of congratulations. As they stared at each other, Louis' lips quirked up at the edges, and Harry couldn't tell if it was a smile or a grimace. Before he could find out, Louis turned his gaze away to grin at the rest of the group.

“Thanks guys,” he said, “seriously, it's...wow, it's so strange. Thanks.”

“You deserve it, mate,” Zayn said, slapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, “I know how much you want it.”

Louis nodded, lips tight, then finally said,

“I don't know what to say,” he shrugged, “I'm just glad...well, quite frankly, I'm just glad to be getting rid of all of you come September.”

Everyone laughed, breaking the emotional tension of the situation. In the midst of their laughter Louis once again caught Harry's eye, and Harry knew he wasn't imagining the look of desperation he saw there. Harry recognised that look all too well, could feel it in his own gaze as he stared back.

“We're all just having a bit of a moment,” Niall said, gesturing to Harry's guitar.

“Jesus, it's all a bit emo, isn't it?” Louis said, walking over to Harry and sitting down beside him on the tree stump, “budge over, Curly, let's sing some songs.”

Harry had to hide his reddening face at the feeling of Louis' body pressed so close to him. The reaction was visceral, uncontrollable. It had been so long since he'd been close enough to touch.

Everyone walked over and sat down again, retaking their position before the disruption. Louis calmly took the plastic cup filled with pale lager that Niall offered him.

Harry stared at Louis and noticed the moonlight shining on his hair, the quirk of his lips as they peeled back to reveal straight teeth. Slowly, Harry began to pluck the strings of his guitar wordlessly, and it wasn't long before Louis' face softened as he watched.

As they continued to drink and sing stupid songs by the creek, the night wore on until the sun was peeking through the trees. At one point through the night Eleanor showed up, and Louis spent his last few hours with her as they chatted with Perrie and Zayn about long distance relationships. They were going to try and make it work.

Harry could only stand to see them together for so long before he needed a break and decided to venture a little further into the woods.

“I'm going to go for a walk,” he said to Niall.

“Really?” Niall replied, face filled with confusion. “Why?”

“Just feel a bit sick,” Harry lied, “I'll be back in a second.”

“Shit, yeah, no problem,” Niall said, “just aim for a bush.”

Harry nodded at the unnecessary advice and Niall gave him a thumbs up as he turned and walked deeper into the trees.

Harry finally found a clearing not far from the creek, just enough to give him some privacy. He just needed a moment to gather his thoughts. He sat down on the grass and felt the cool, moist earth seep through the seat of his jeans, then wrapped his arms around his knees. At sixteen years old, Harry still felt like a child.

After about fifteen minutes of blissful silence, Harry heard the trees rustle behind him. Assuming it was Niall, Harry didn't bother to look around as a body perched itself beside his on the grass, lying down alongside him. When a voice spoke, it was not the one he was expecting,

“Room for one more?”

Harry's skin erupted into gooseflesh upon hearing Louis' voice. He immediately turned his head and saw Louis' profile, his cheekbones highlighted by the moon shining through the trees. Harry wanted to curse God for making someone so unobtainable to him look so breathtaking.

“So...” Harry said, barely able to speak, “You're leaving?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, “I guess so.”

“OK.”

Harry turned his head to look back up at the sky. He could hear Louis shuffle beside him, rustling the leaves underneath his body.

“I leave in two weeks.”

Harry's eyes snapped back to Louis' face because _God, two weeks_?A strange sense of urgency hummed in Harry's bones with the knowledge. Suddenly, being angry at Louis didn't seem so important.

“All right.”

It was all he could say. Harry felt like his brain was short circuiting the more he thought about the fact that in two weeks Louis would be gone, and who knows when he'd be back.

“I just wanted to say,” Louis took in a deep breath, “that I'm going to miss you so much. I know it probably doesn't mean anything and that you probably still hate me, but I'm going to miss you, Harry.”

Harry bit his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. He was glad Louis couldn't see his face in the darkness.

“Louis...please. Don't.”

But Louis was unstoppable. As though he knew this would be the last time he'd be able to say everything he needed to and he was going to use it up until there was nothing left to take. Harry felt each word like a bullet in his skin.

“I know I've hurt you and I wish I could take it back. I never meant to, you know? I was just so confused, _fuck_ , and it was just too much. That sounds so weak, God.” Louis shuffled on the ground, a sound that Harry equated with nervousness. In his urgency to say everything he wanted to say, Louis wasn't making any sense.

Harry couldn't help the rush that coursed through his body at hearing the sincerity in Louis' words. All he wanted was to turn to the other boy and hold him so tight that their bodies would be indistinguishable from each other. He clenched his fists to the ground to stop himself. When Louis turned his head to look into Harry's eyes, Harry felt powerless.

“This isn't fair,” Harry's eyes spiked with tears, “you're not being fair.”

“I know,” Louis breathed, “I'm sorry I'm so selfish. I've always been selfish when it comes to you.”

“Yes” Harry mumbled, eyes locking onto Louis', tears drying as he blinked them away. He was so sick of Louis' apologies. “You are selfish. You have been selfish.”

Now it was Louis' turn to look away. Even though Harry had been hurt by Louis, he still felt a twinge in his heart as Louis' face fell, pain evident on his beautiful features. Still, it wasn't enough to quell the ebbing bitterness that infiltrated Harry's body when he thought about everything Louis had subjected him to over the years.

“What even am I to you, Louis?” Harry whispered, heart pounding in his chest. “How do you see me?”

“You're my best friend.”

Harry held his breath, then slowly exhaled and closed his eyes. There was that word again. Friend. _Friends_. Louis was in a ridiculous amount of denial.

“I don't see you as my friend,” Harry whispered.

Louis' lips formed a straight line as his eyebrows puckered. “I probably deserve that.”

Somewhere in Harry's mind, he was aware of the fact that Louis had taken the wrong meaning from his words.

“I just have so much I want to say,” Louis whispered, voice cracking, “I just want to explain-”

“Save it, Louis.” Harry tried to make it sound harsh, but it just came out sounding resigned and sad. Hopeless. “No matter what you say, it won't make a difference.”

“You'll still hate me?”

Harry looked over at Louis, then quickly away. Was this hate? No, it felt too vulnerable to be hate. Too weak. Hate was a fire that raged in the bones. This...Harry didn't know what this was.

At that moment, they both jumped as they heard Liam's voice calling out their names from across the woods. The group was looking for them, and the knowledge of it made them both take a deep breath and rise to their feet. As they stood and brushed off the debris from their clothes, they finally looked up at each other.

  
“You'll be there when I go though, right?” Louis asked, voice low. “I know I don't deserve it, but I want you to be there.”

After a moment of silence, Harry replied.

“I'll be there.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

-*-

Two weeks later Harry was lying in his room, staring at the clock on his bedside cabinet as the minutes slowly drifted by.

_12:50 p.m._

Louis was leaving today. More specifically, Louis was leaving in ten minutes and Harry had already received several texts and missed calls from Niall, Zayn and Liam demanding that he meet them at Louis' house to say goodbye. Harry ignored all of them. When his phone buzzed to inform him he had a new voicemail message, he held it to his ear and listened to the accusatory lilt of Niall's voice as he reprimanded him over the phone.

“Listen mate, I don't know if you've slept in or what, but Louis is leaving soon! Get over here pronto!”

Harry listened to the message several times, then threw his phone down to the floor and rolled over onto his side. Louis was leaving soon. Louis was leaving and he wasn't coming back. The thought of it did nothing to spur Harry to move. It made him want to sit in his room and rot away until the end of time.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on his door.

“Harry?”

The door opened and his mum walked into the room, dressed in a green blouse with a towel on top of her head from having just washed her mane of dark brown hair. She stepped carefully across the room like she was walking into the den of a sleeping lion, afraid to make any sudden movement. She sat down on the edge of the bed and Harry could feel it dip underneath him. He tried to hide his tear-stained face from her as he stared at the wall.

“You OK, love?” She asked, softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Are you not going to see Louis off? Jay told me he was leaving today.”

Harry inhaled a deep, shaking breath, knowing she would feel the tremor underneath her hand.

“Oh Harry,” she sighed, “I know you're upset, dear.”

No she didn't. She had no idea. How could she possibly when he'd never told her about him and Louis? The secret ate him up inside. He let out a low moan as the tears crept down his face. Anne squeezed his shoulder hard, and after a moment he turned his body around on the bed and sat up to hug her. She wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him into her like he was a child again, her hand on the back of his head, soothing him.

“It's OK,” she said, softly, “I know how much he means to you.”

Harry sobbed then, and the sound was strange to his ears. He couldn't remember the last time he cried like this.

“I'm going to miss him,” Harry said, voice muffled as he pressed his face into her shoulder.

“I know.”

Harry wondered how much she knew. He closed his eyes. Really, he had nothing left to lose.

“I love him so much,” he whispered.

Anne was silent then. Harry's heart thundered in his chest as he waited for her response. The weight of the confession hung heavy in the air. Finally, in a quiet voice, Anne replied,

“I know.”

Harry exhaled a breath of air from his lungs that he hadn't even known he'd been holding. Relief washed through him, making him feel clean, reborn, and he wasn't sure if she knew exactly what he meant when he said he loved Louis, but he thought she did, and that was enough.

Harry's watery eyes settled on the digital clock as he peered at it over his mother's shoulder.

_13:00_

Louis was gone.

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he was acutely aware of the fact that, for once, after all these years, it was Harry that had broken the promise to Louis.


	6. It Will Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and Kudos for the previous chapter. This chapter takes place two years after Louis left for University.

Two Years Later

“Here Harry, listen to this!”

Niall sat behind his _Pearl_ five-piece drum set and began banging out a steady, simple beat into the empty room. They'd managed to rent out a small rehearsal space above an old Chinese restaurant and it meant they could finally rehearse their music at full volume, rather than the half-mast performances they'd subjected Niall's family to in the confines of his bedroom. At eighteen years old, they were finally beginning to establish a little independence, and it felt good.

“Not bad,” Harry nodded, pursing his lips, “maybe a little more snare needed.”

Niall looked affronted, “That'll completely ruin the sound I'm going for though!”

“Just a suggestion,” Harry put up his hands, “you're the drumming expert.”

Niall snorted, then hit a cymbal, “Damn straight!”

Harry laughed and sat down on a small stool beside Niall's drum kit, plugging his guitar into his _Marshall_ amplifier. They began playing a song they'd been working on consistently for the past few months. A Fleetwood Mac-inspired tune that they both thought could be their first real hit. It was a pretty exciting thing for them, considering they'd been working on getting their music heard by industry experts for almost a year now and were only just starting to get bites. When the song came to an end, Harry looked at Niall for a long moment,

“More snare,” he said, finally.

Niall's lips tightened into a thin line before he nodded, “Fine, asshole, you're right.”

Harry smiled at the victory. He was always right.

“OK, wise guy, what do you suggest we do for our big gig then?” Niall said. “Since you're so full of bright ideas today.”

A few months ago, Harry had sent out dozens of demo tapes to record labels, asking them to listen to some of their stuff. For a while they'd received no replies, until last week when Harry had received an e-mail telling him that a talent scout had received their demo and was interested in watching them perform at their next gig. Of course, this had sent Niall and Harry into a meltdown and now they were in a perpetual state of freaking out about the prospect of actually being noticed.

“ _When I said we were going to quit school and become famous, I was only joking!” Niall had said, nearly hyperventilating, “Haz, this is huge! Oh God...”_

It was huge. Harry knew it was, could feel it in his bones. Now all they had to do was impress the talent scout who would be coming to see them perform and then who _knew_ what possibilities would be available to them! They may not become famous, but they might be able to get by. How amazing would it be to do this for a living? It would be the best job in the world and Harry would get to enjoy it with his best friend, of all people.

However, even though Harry was confident, that didn't mean he wasn't nervous. Their next gig would be at _The Smoke and Dive,_ an underground club in London which was well known to established, up-and-coming artists. Harry and Niall were amateurs compared to some of the people that had played there, and they knew it, which is why they planned to leave no stone unturned in their preparation for it.

“I think we should start planning a set, you know? Just to be sure,” Harry said, plucking idly on the strings of his guitar, “it's better to be safe.”

“Good thinking,” Niall said, “do you think we should throw in some covers, too? I think that would be good to sort of warm people up.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry nodded, “might be good to make us feel a bit more comfortable too. Like a little warm up before the magic happens.”

Niall wiggled his eyebrows at Harry, trying to restrain the urge to make a suggestive joke. Harry laughed, but rolled his eyes,

“You're a pervert, how does Melissa put up with you?”

“She usually just throws something at me.”

Melissa and Niall were an unconfirmed 'thing', according to the Irishman, but Harry knew there were real feelings there no matter what Niall said.

“Speaking of undefined relationships,” Niall said pointedly, staring at Harry, “what's going on with you and Nick?”

Harry had come out to Niall on his eighteenth birthday party. They had been drinking copious amounts of sweet, salted cocktails whilst dancing to Cher's _Believe_ when Harry had turned around and started making out with Nick Grimshaw, who had officially came out the year before. Some people believed it was just a drunken joke, because Harry had laughed it off afterwards, but Harry had confessed the truth to Niall and Liam later on that night.

“ _You're gay then?” Niall asked, eyes shining, face flushed with too much alcohol, “like, properly gay?”_

“ _I don't know!” Harry said, “I think so. I'm not sure. Maybe bi?”_

“ _Greedy, you mean” Liam chuckled, then immediately stopped when Niall gave him a fixed look, “sorry, that was inappropriate.”_

“ _Oh I don't know what I am,” Harry said, frustrated, “I could be anything. I don't-”_

“ _Haz,” Niall said, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder, “it's OK, mate. Haven't you heard? Sexuality's a spectrum. We're all a little gay.”_

“ _I'm not!” Liam said, astonished, “No offence, Hazza.”_

“ _None taken,” Harry grumbled._

“ _Liam, you're the most 'little gay' of us all!” Niall said, “You were always checking out Zayn's ass in the locker rooms!”_

“ _I am not!” Liam protested, “I was not checking out his ass! I'm jealous of his quads, OK!”_

_Niall burst into laughter, “Whatever you say.”_

_Liam huffed, “I don't like guys, OK? Very funny. But I'm fine with you liking guys, Haz, honestly.”_

_Although Liam's words were tinged with the slightest touch of homophobic sentiment, Harry appreciated where they were coming from._

“ _We're here for you, Harry,” Niall said, “have you told Louis and Zayn your big news?”_

_Harry felt his body flinch in the darkness as they all sat on the floor of his room. He was glad he'd turned off the light before they'd started having this conversation._

“ _No,” Harry admitted, “they don't know.”_

_In truth, Harry had barely spoken to Zayn since he left for Brighton, and Louis...well, Louis was Louis. They'd sent each other the occasional e-mail for the first few months after Louis had left for Edinburgh (after Harry apologised for not showing up to say goodbye on the day he left) but the communication soon dwindled down to nothing. Now, all Harry heard about Louis were titbits his mother got from Jay and the occasional Facebook update on his time line, which he ignored because too many of them involved Eleanor visiting._

“ _Well, I'm sure they'll be supportive too,” Niall said, not missing a beat, “I'm glad you told us.”_

“ _Me too,” Liam smiled, “bros forever.”_

“ _Brooo.”_

_Niall and Harry shared an amused glance, then immediately leaned over to pull a pouting Liam into a three-way hug._

Harry shook his head from the memories and returned his focus to the present. Niall was peering at him with wide eyes, waiting for an answer.

“What about me and Nick?”

“Dude, the guy doesn't stop staring at you! He's all love drunk from that one kiss that happened three months ago! When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Harry huffed out a laugh. God.

“Me and Nick?” Harry asked, genuinely confused, “I've never thought about him like that.”

“It must've crossed your mind when you had his tongue down your throat.”

Harry wrinkled his nose,

“I think that was the third Cosmopolitan, more than anything else,” he said, “besides, Nick's not...”

“Not what?” Niall asked, then raised his eyebrows, “Good lookin'?”

“No,” Harry laughed, “he's fine. Just not my type, is what I was going to say.”

“Oh really?” Niall nodded, “OK. Well, have you got your eye on _anyone_? Male or female?”

Niall really was a gossip.

“Nope,” Harry said, refusing to give the blonde the information he craved, but also because it was the truth, “haven't met anyone.”

“Harry, pull yourself together! You could have any girl or guy you want!” Niall looked like he was on the brink of a meltdown, “That's all I hear the girls in our year talk about. _Ohh Harry Styles, so cute, wanna bone him so bad_! It's sickening. Liam would give his left nut to have half the attention.”

“Liam's good looking,” Harry argued.

“He's got no confidence though,” Niall said, “you're the one the girls want. Look at you, with your long, curly locks and dimples, absolutely disgusting. What a waste.”

Niall was clearly taking the piss out of him now, but still it made something click in Harry's brain. Maybe he needed to dip his toes in the dating pool a bit more. After all, the only real experience of lust he'd had was with Louis, but Louis was long gone now and judging from what Harry had seen on his Facebook timeline, he wasn't coming back. So maybe it _was_ time for Harry to move on. Maybe Niall was right.

“I don't know what to do,” Harry shrugged, “girls are so complicated.”

“So, get a guy then,” Niall mumbled, distracted by a fallen drumstick, which had tumbled out of his grasp when he'd tried to twirl it around his fingers, “first time for everything.”

“Yeah...”

First time, sure.

“I'm serious, after we finish rehearsing here, we're going out tonight! We're going to find you a man!”

And so, that's exactly what they did.

Two hours later, Harry, Liam and Niall were awkwardly standing in _Sandys_ a.k.a the only gay-friendly bar in Holmes Chapel. signified by the rainbow banner that hung proudly from a flagpole outside the establishment. The room around them was small and dark, brightened only by the scattered lamps that hung low from the ceiling and across the walls. As they stood at the bar, they struggled to hear each other over the loud chatter of the other patrons.

“This place is busier than I expected! A lot of good lookin' girls though,” Niall shouted, “I'm keeping my eye out for someone for you though, Haz, promise.”

Harry took a long gulp from his pint glass. His knuckles were white from nerves.

“Good idea, I'll keep an eye out too.” said Liam, craning his neck to get a better view of the talent, “So what are you lookin' for? We've got a very nice gentleman at twelve o'clock.”

Niall barked out a laugh at Liam's business-like approach to pulling. Harry, on the other hand, turned his head to subtly eye up this 'very nice gentleman.' However, upon seeing the man, he scrunched up his nose,

“He's a bit young,” Harry said.

“You like a sugar daddy then, do you Haz?” Niall teased, “No problem, I'll keep that in mind. Any hair colour preference?”

“I like a nice smile,” Harry said, “I don't care about hair colour. Brown, maybe. Or blonde. Somewhere in between.”

Niall and Liam raised an eyebrow at him,

“Be more specific, Haz, please,” Niall said, sarcastically.

Harry blushed.

They were silent for a moment as they scanned their eyes over the club. Harry tapped his foot along to the beat of the music playing over the speakers. After a few more pints and a few less prospective suitors, Harry, Liam and Niall eventually became too drunk to care about finding Harry a man and found their way to the dance floor.

Harry could feel his body tingle as he danced rather gracelessly to the music, while Niall and Liam acted out a mock dance battle in the middle of the floor, pulling out some of their worst moves to compete with each other. At one point, between dancing and watching Liam and Niall, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned around, he was met with piercing blue eyes. In his drunken haze, they looked painfully familiar.

“Hi,” Blue Eyes said, “I think I recognise you.”

It wasn't the most original line, Harry had to admit.

“Oh yeah?” He replied, the alcohol in his system making him a bit more flirtatious. “You're the third person who's recognised me tonight.”

The man laughed and bit his lip,

“No, I mean it,” he said, “I really do recognise you. You're in a band. That's your band mate,” Blue Eyes nodded towards Niall, “I've seen you play a few times around town. You're really good.”

Harry felt a genuine smile cross his lips.

“Thank you.”

“What's your name?” Blue Eyes asked, holding out his hand.

“It's Harry,” Harry took his hand and squeezed, “that over there is Niall, my band mate. You really think we're good?”

The man grinned, then raised his eyebrow,

“Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it,” he shrugged, “so yeah, I think you're good.”

Harry beamed, the alcohol making his skin flush and his heart race. This man was attractive. He had a cheeky smile and bright eyes and thick hair styled in a quiff. He was exactly Harry's type.

“Good,” Harry said, steadily.

“Good.” Blue Eyes smirked, then stood closer, so close that he stole Harry's breath away. “Now, do you think maybe if I give you more compliments you'll ask what my name is?”

Harry felt himself shrink back, embarrassed. God, was he really that self-absorbed?

“I'm so sorry,” he said, “what's your name? Seriously, I want to know. Sorry!”

The man just laughed. Cackled, even. It seemed like he enjoyed seeing Harry so flustered.

“I was just teasing you. My name is Darren.”

“Nice to meet you.”

It was only when he heard Niall and Liam's stifled laughter behind him that he became aware of the fact that he and Darren were standing in the middle of the dance floor, trying to get to know each other, all while his obnoxious friends watched on from the sidelines. Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Harry asked, wincing as Liam and Niall broke into fits of giggles, “ _Anywhere_?”

“Sure,” Darren said, following Harry as he stepped away from the dance floor and sat down in a small, two-seater booth at the end of the bar.

As soon as they were settled, Harry peered over at the man sitting next to him. Darren was good looking. He had a stubbled chin, high cheekbones and a smile that seemed more prominent on one side of his face than the other. Harry liked that.

“Your friends find us pretty amusing,” Darren said, barely able to contain his laugh as he stared over towards the dance floor, where Niall and Liam were staring without a hint of shame, “all they need is some popcorn and we're all set up for an Oscar win.”

Harry shook his head, “They're idiots, ignore them. I'm more interested in getting to know you.”

Darren raised his eyebrows, “What do you want to know?”

Harry could feel Darren's thigh against his own. Some small, stupid part of him wondered if Darren was actually interested in men or just a guy who liked his music and fancied a chat.

“What made you approach me?” Harry asked.

The question was tactless and he felt so stupid, but he'd never done this before and it seemed like the only way to clear up any lingering confusion. Darren just laughed,

“I approached you because, like I said, I recognised you,” Darren shrugged, “I like your music. I'm a fan, I guess you could say.”

A fan? That's all? Harry felt his shoulders sag.

“Oh.”

Harry was about to give up on this deceptive, straight smooth-talker, when all of a sudden he felt Darren shift closer until his chest was pressed against the side of Harry's arm.

“I also have a thing for curls,” Darren said, “you seemed to fit the bill.”

Harry couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him.

“You're pretty new to all this, aren't you?” Darren said, pulling himself back from Harry's personal space.

“How did you know?” Harry frowned. “Also, heeyy. That's rude.”

“I don't mean it as a bad thing,” Darren smirked, “I just mean, you're so...innocent. I like it. It's a nice change from some of the guys you find in these places.”

Harry felt himself relax.

“Oh, good. You're nice too, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Darren chuckled. “I'm so glad you're into guys. I always wondered when I was at your shows, but couldn't quite tell. I wanted to approach you so many times, but always chickened out. When I saw you tonight I just thought, _I have to know what this guy's deal is_.”

Harry peered up at Darren from behind thick lashes as the man stared at him with something close to awe. It made him tingle. He also felt slightly overwhelmed by the attention.

“Well,” Harry said, gaze steady, “now you know.”

A long silence passed between them.

“Can I have your number?” Darren asked. “Feel free to say no, but...I'd really like your number.”

Harry hesitated for a moment as a swell of guilt came out of nowhere and settled in his chest. He had no reason to feel guilty, he tried to tell himself, yet still it remained in his consciousness like a black crow circling overhead.

“Sure,” he said, resisting the urge to bolt, “of course.”

As soon as they'd exchanged numbers and Darren promised he'd call, Harry made his way back over to Liam and Niall on the dance floor.

“So,” Niall said, elbowing Harry in the ribs, “where's lover boy?”

“He went home.” Harry said.“Asked for my number though.”

“Score!” Liam said, pounding the air with his fist, “Point goes to Hazza, well done brah!”

Alcohol made Liam act like an American frat boy.

“Thanks.” Harry said. “He seemed nice.”

“Fit too, if I do say so myself,” Niall said.

“Very!” Liam nodded, enthusiastically.

“See Liam, told you you were a little gay.”

Liam stopped dancing and furrowed his eyebrows, causing Niall to throw back his head and let out a long, blast-of-a-laugh.

-*-

Darren texted Harry two days later to arrange a date.

They'd decided to meet outside _La Lanturna_ , a pizzeria that sold one of the best stuffed crusts Harry had ever tasted. It wasn't a particularly romantic meal, but Harry was hungry and it was close to his rehearsal space, so he figured it was practical. They bought two ham, cheese and pineapple pizzas with mozzarella dripping from the crust and took it to the park, where they sat on the grass and attempted to get to know each other. It was about half an hour into their conversation that Harry realised how bone achingly handsome Darren was, and he could concentrate on little else throughout the date. It was Hell.

“I'm sorry, what?”

Harry had zoned out momentarily during a conversation about Darren's profession. He often found himself concentrating too hard on the little details of a person, their micro-expressions or their hand gestures, and missed the parts he was supposed to be paying attention to. This habit annoyed some people, but Darren just smiled.

“That's the second time you've asked me to repeat something on this date, am I boring you?”

There was a teasing tone to his voice and once again Harry felt mildly embarrassed by his own behaviour.

“Sorry, it's just, I get distracted sometimes.”

“What were you distracted by?”

“Your eyes.”

“Stop Harry, you're going to make me blush!” Darren pressed his hands to his cheeks and grinned, “Anybody ever tell you you're pretty smooth for an eighteen year old?”

“I'm not trying to be smooth,” Harry's brows closed together, “I'm just being honest. You have nice eyes.”

Darren seemed taken aback by the sincerity of the comment.

“Thank you,” he smiled, softly.

A moment of understanding seemed to pass between them.

“So,” Darren said, leaning back on the grass, “you do this kind of thing much? Dating etcetera?”

“No, I haven't had much practice, to be honest.”

“Me neither,” Darren said, wistfully, “guess we're both just terribly unattractive.”

Harry laughed at that. Darren was anything _but_ unattractive.

“Seriously though,” Darren continued, “how the Hell are you still single? You're gorgeous.”

Harry felt his whole body tingle with warmth and he rubbed his arm self consciously. He wasn't used to being so obviously admired. When he'd been with Louis, it had been a secret, something that was to be enjoyed and forgotten-- something that happened _around_ their everyday lives, rather than something that was real in itself. With Louis, Harry had been afraid to say what he really felt in case it sent the other boy running. Harry knew Louis cared about him, but sometimes it felt like the lines were blurred between friendship and something more. They were both so young at the time it all started. Harry thought that somewhere along the line, Louis had tricked himself into believing theirs was just a close friendship.

“Well, why are _you_ still single?” Harry asked, “You're twenty-two, practically an old man, you should be settling down soon.”

Darren's mouth fell open with shock and he kicked out at Harry with the heel of his boot.

“That's terrible! I'm not old! My last boyfriend broke up with me because I was too young! You're calling me old now? Oh, I despair!”

Harry could tell by the bright smile on Darren's face that bringing up his ex wasn't something that affected him too badly, so he decided to delve further into the details.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah,” Darren said, picking a daisy from the ground and idly pulling the petals, “he was...a bit boring. It wasn't that serious, really.”

“Not meant to be?” Harry asked.

“No,” Darren looked at him steadily, “I guess not.”

Harry cleared his throat and redirected his gaze to the ground, away from Darren's intensity.

“How about you then? You got any ex's?”

“I had a girlfriend,” Harry said, “we went out for the first four years of high school.”

“A _girlfriend_ , huh?” Darren raised his eyebrows. “Pretty?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “she was nice.”

“Nice is such a bland word,” Darren said, wrinkling his nose.

The comment made Harry smirk. “As is boring,” he said, trying to remain aloof but failing miserably.

Darren grinned, then let out a pleased laugh. Harry couldn't help but notice the crinkles that folded at the corners of his eyes.

“So...what _do_ you like?” Darren asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side, thinking for a moment, then said,

“I like your eyes.”

The conversation felt like it'd come full circle. Darren held Harry's gaze for a moment, then smiled,

“I like yours, too.”

-*-

At first, maintaining a budding relationship with Darren had been a fairly innocuous affair for Harry.

Little did he know that, in a small town like Holmes Chapel, word spread quickly, and it wasn't long before the news was twittering all over school. Nobody ever said anything directly to Harry's face, but he could hear the whispers and speculation through the twisted branches of the grapevine. It didn't bother him though. Only Niall and Liam knew the truth and if other people wanted to speculate, they could go right ahead. It was none of their business.

That is, until people started making it their business.

Harry had started getting a lot more hassle from some of the guys on the football team. To them, it didn't matter that the rumours were mostly hearsay (even though they were true), enough people were talking about Harry's 'boyfriend' that to them, it may as well have been the gospel truth. Harry had also noticed that they were being particularly rough on him in practice, tackling him with unnecessary force or kicking the ball at _him_ instead of at the net. Harry brushed off these little things at first, but after a while they eventually started to grind him down.

“Don't let them bother you, Hazza,” Niall said.

It was after practice one day and Harry and Niall were the last ones to leave the dressing room. Harry had foregone getting changed because he knew it would just give the other boys a reason to bother him. In truth, Harry wasn't used to being even mildly disliked, so he wasn't sure how to react to the sudden abandonment of his team mates.

“It's hard though!” Harry argued, “I just don't get it. They don't even know if the rumours are true! Why are they being so...”

“Dick-ish?” Niall offered.

“Yeah!”

“Because, Harry, they're stupid! They don't have two pea-brains to rub together!” Niall slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as they walked out of the changing rooms, “Just ignore them.”

It was easy for Niall to say, he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

“I'll try.”

“Don't try, Haz, just do it,” Niall said, suddenly very serious, “they may not know for sure that the rumours about your boyfriend are true, but they _are_ true. Own it! Be the bi-sexual trailblazer you were born to be!”

Niall gave him a fist bump and left Harry speechless. The words were ringing in his ears all the way home and even when he tried to revise for his exams. _Own it_. _Own it_.

_Own it._

God damn it, he _was_ going to own it. That's exactly what he was going to do. If they wanted to stick labels on him, he was going to show them just how into men he could be.

The next time Harry saw Darren, he held his hand, kissed him in public and changed his relationship status on Facebook. Harry Styles was in a relationship with a boy...and he fucking liked it.

-*-

After Harry started embracing his sexuality, he found that many of the whispers and speculation about him died off due to lack of interest. He still got a bit of hassle from some guys on the football team, but for a lot of them the fun was taken out of it when he started being more open. At first. there was a bit of a wave he'd had to ride out, where people were more open about discussing his love life, but after that he began to blend into the crowd again. This meant that Harry could enjoy the first few, budding weeks of his romance with Darren without any reservations, and he found himself falling harder and harder for Darren every time they met.

It also helped that Darren was very likeable and got on well with Harry's friends, a task that was not always easy. In time, they even started going on double dates with Niall and Melissa. Harry's little act of bravery had inspired Niall to give his relationship with Melissa some kind of label. They were now officially a 'thing'.

It was on one of these 'double dates' (after Niall and Harry had finished their final exams and were now officially off for Summer) that Niall decided to drop a bombshell into Harry's world.

They all decided to go to the cinema to celebrate. When the movie was over, they followed it up with some fast food, ordering at the drive through and then pulling up into a space at the _McDonalds_ car park to eat. Niall and Melissa were in the front seat while Harry and Darren sat in the back. They were all enjoying their meals in amicable silence, when Niall suddenly said,

“Oh here, Harry, did I tell ya? I was talking to Tommo the other day.”

Just like that, Harry's appetite diminished. He felt like his heart had stopped beating. After a moment, he cleared his throat and tried to maintain his composure.

“You were?” He asked.

Harry could feel Darren's gaze burning into the side of his face, but he ignored it and concentrated on his fries.

“Yeah!” Niall said, “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” Harry replied, giving no further details.

He really didn't want to talk about Louis with Darren in the car.

“Oh,” Niall paused, then continued, “well, he was asking about you.”

Harry hated the way his heart skipped a beat at even the thought of his name falling from Louis' lips. Christ, he needed to get a grip.

“That's nice. How's he doing?”

It would be too suspicious if he didn't at least try to act normal.

“He's doing well! Bad news though, apparently he and Eleanor broke up,” Niall lamented, “the distance got to them, I think.” Harry's heart pummelled against the walls of his chest. Niall continued to talk in between mouthfuls of Big Mac, “I told him about our gig in a few weeks, he said he'll be there!”

Harry's heart flat lined.

Niall turned his face to look at Harry, moon cascading down through the car window, making his blonde hair look white.

“He's coming back to Holmes Chapel for a few weeks,” he said, “ya know, before he heads off.”

Harry shook his head. Too much information was being thrown at him at once and he felt like he was drowning in it.

“Off?” Harry blinked. “Off where? Where's he going?”

“Well it's his last year at Edinburgh,” Niall shrugged, paying more attention to the final few bites of his burger than to Harry, “he's taking a gap year and going to volunteer in Africa. Part of his whole missionary thing or something, I don't know. Anyway, he'll be spending his time back home before he heads off. Isn't that great? The old gang back together again!”

Harry felt like the walls of the car were closing in on him, hot and sweaty, he couldn't breath.

“I'm sorry,” Darren interjected, “who's this guy?”

“Louis 'Tommo' Tomlinson!” Niall said, “He's a laugh! You'll like him Darren, you remind me of him a bit!”

Harry was going to throw up.

“Oh _really_?” Darren asked, and Harry could feel his eyes on him once again. “How so?”

“I don't know,” Niall chewed, thinking very carefully about his answer, “Well, you guys have a similar humour, I guess...”

“Niall...” Harry warned.

“And I suppose you're both quite short...”

“Niall!”

“Similar eyes, as well...”

Harry turned his head to look at Darren, who was giving him a knowing smirk.

“What?” Niall turned, as if he'd only just heard his name, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry shook his head, sighing, “he's going to Africa then?”

“Yup,” Niall said, “to do the Lord's work.”

Harry's shoulders tensed.

_At least Louis found what he was looking for..._

The thought was tinged with venom.

“Did he seem good?” Harry asked, because he had to know.

“Yeah, really good,” Niall said, “he just seemed so...I don't know. He seemed really calm. Just, like he was full'a'the holy ghost or something.”

“Oh...” Harry said, softly, “I'm glad.”

“Anyway, he's back in two weeks so you'll get to see him then and ask him yourself!” Niall said, putting his rubbish onto the floor of the car and fastening his seatbelt. “Ready, guys?”

Harry wasn't sure if he was ready at all.

-*-


	7. It Will Come Back (2)

The night before Louis was due to arrive home, Harry lay in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The nerves in his body were calm, eerily calm, and the thought had occurred to him that perhaps he had worried himself so much over the inevitable meeting that his mind had simply shut in on itself. That he'd physically worn out his brain until his nervous system couldn't handle it anymore and had given up.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Harry finally managed to lull himself into some sort of rest. When his alarm went off at 9:00 a.m. he felt like his head had been run over by a truck. He threw his hand over to silence the incessant beeping and dragged himself out of bed, making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, shower and get ready for the day ahead. As he bathed, he took extra care to wash his hair thoroughly, scrubbed his skin raw and brushed his teeth until the taste of peppermint surrounded every nook and cranny between his lips and gums. He tried not to think about why he was taking such extra care of his appearance today.

When he walked downstairs and entered into the kitchen, his mum was at the hob, cooking breakfast and watching _This Morning_. Philip Schofield was talking to her about how to combat night terrors with the help of The Speakmans, a segment that would be coming on after the break. When the screen flicked over to the allotted advertisements, his mum finally looked up from the set and smiled at him.

“Morning, love,” she said, “you OK? Want some breakfast?”

“No thanks,” Harry grunted, “didn't sleep well last night.”

“Aw, why not? If it's night terrors you should really watch this, there's a segment coming up about-”

“Mum, it's not night terrors.”

“OK, well then what is it?”

Harry didn't have the guts to tell his mum the reason.

Harry's mother knew that he had had feelings for Louis at one point, but in her eyes those feelings were long gone. Hell, he'd barely even spoken to Louis in almost two years. Not to mention the fact that every time Louis' stepfather saw him around town, he'd actively avoid Harry, glaring like he was the spawn of Satan himself. Needless to say, word had obviously spread to the Tomlinson household that Harry was dating a man, and the minister did not approve. Reverend Tomlinson was probably all-too-glad that Louis had grown apart from Harry. Louis' mum still spoke to him though, but she was more guarded than she'd been in the past. It made his heart drop every time she smiled at him, but didn't stop to chat.

“Nothing,” Harry shook his head, “forget it. I'm going to meet Niall for rehearsal.”

“Not long now until your big gig,” Anne said, eyes wide with excitement, “are you and Niall looking forward to it?”

One week. One week until they packed up their overnight bags and instruments and caught the train to London. Make or break.

“Yeah, I think we're ready,” Harry said, trying to usher up enough confidence to believe it, “I think...I know we're ready.”

“That's the spirit!” Anne said, “Is Darren going with you?”

Harry hadn't even thought about asking him. Maybe it was too soon to ask his first boyfriend to join him on a trip to London. Isn't that what couples do though? He supposed it was. Still....

“I'm not sure,” Harry said, “might be a bit soon to be taking weekend trips together.”

“I'm sure he'll want to support you though, honey,” she said, “I'd go too if I could get the time off work.”

Harry understood that his mum would be there if she could. It wasn't easy for her though, considering her crazy schedule; balancing a full-time job with two full-grown kids, all on her own.

“I know, Mum,” Harry picked up a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and peeled a strip of skin, “don't feel guilty.”

“You know that's what I do best.”

“I know, and it's annoying,” he took a bite from the top of the banana and grinned, “I'll see you later.”

Harry received no reply as the _This Morning_ theme tune blared over the television, signifying the end of his mother's interest.

When Harry met Niall at their rehearsal space, the blonde was already in the middle of a very intense freestyle drum session. It seemed that the young man imagined himself to be a bit of a young John Bonham as he pummelled each drum like his life depended on it, forehead slick with sweat and eyes clenched shut as he channelled the deceased drummer.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the searing intensity Niall displayed as he completely missed Harry's entrance into the room. When the song ended, Niall stood up and gave a bow to a crowd that did not exist, kissing the tips of his fingers. When Niall opened his eyes, it was to Harry's unexpected round of applause.

“Bravo,” Harry said, “Bravo, Niall! More!”

Niall snorted a laugh out through his nose.

“I didn't see you there,” he said, trying to hide the tinge of pink to his cheeks, “you caught me in the middle of practising.”

“ _Practising_? You mean you weren't playing Carnegie hall? Could've fooled me!”

Niall shook his head. He hated being teased.

“Can we get on with this?”

“Sure,” Harry giggled.

When he sat down on his stool and began to unpack his guitar from it's case, he glanced up to find Niall peering at him with a look of something between suspicion and confusion.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Have you done something with your hair?” Niall asked, eyebrow raised, “like, gelled it or something?”

Harry cleared his throat and patted a hand to his curls.

“Yeah....why?”

“Nothing,” Niall said, but there was still a suspicious edge to his tone, “you never gel your hair.”

Harry shifted in his seat and focused his attention back on his guitar.

“Yeah, well, thought I'd go for a change.”

“Right....OK,” Niall said, focusing on his drums.

Jesus.

After practising for a few hours, they decided to wrap it up. Niall suggested they meet Liam for drinks at the bar and Harry texted Darren to join them. They gathered up their belongings and made their way down to _Sandys._

By day, the pub was a lot less bustling than the night crowd, and they were able to find a seat easily. Liam had already secured them a booth at the back of the bar by the time they arrived, and they quickly bought a round of drinks before relaxing into the atmosphere.

“Hey boys,” Liam chirped, smile spreading across his stubbled cheeks, “how was practice? Not long 'til judgement day now!”

Harry wondered if everyone was on a countdown until the day they performed in London. By the look on Liam's face, he'd have to go with 'yes'.

“We're on top form, aren't we Harry?” Niall said, slapping a hand to Harry's shoulder while holding his drink in the other. “We don't sweat the small stuff.”

“Absolutely,” Harry said, not agreeing at all.

“It's going to be amazing, I just know it. I can't wait to see you guys,” Liam said, “I'm so pumped!”

Harry had to admit, when it came to being supportive, there was no one quite like Liam Payne.

“Thanks, Liam,” Harry said, genuinely grateful.

“No problem,” Liam lifted the rim of his glass to his lips, “I know Louis' going to love it too.”

“When is Tommo arriving anyway?” Niall asked. “His flight gets in this evening, right?”

Liam's brow furrowed in confusion, then he looked at his watch, then back at Niall, “Huh?”

“Tommo? When does his flight touch down?” Niall asked.

Harry glanced between Liam's confused face and Niall's open mouth and something inside him recoiled. It was like his body was reacting to a revelation that had not been made, yet he was so acutely aware of what was to come that he may as well have read it on a tarot card.

“What are you talking about? Louis' on his way here now, his flight touched down this morning.”

Harry's fingers turned white on his glass.

“What? He told me it gets in at eight!” Niall said, aghast.

“Eight in the morning, Niall!” Liam rolled his eyes, “He arrived at eight this morning and it's two o'clock now! I asked him to meet us here for drinks.”

Harry felt like his lungs were collapsing, he couldn't breathe. Niall and Liam continued to talk beside him, unaware of his slow descent into insanity, but he could feel his throat tighten as it became harder to breathe. He thought he was having a panic attack.

“Harry, you OK?” Liam asked, “You look really pale. Maybe it's just the black shirt you're wearing. It's nice by the way, what is that material? Transluscent?”

Harry tried to open his mouth to form a coherent answer, but all signs of life left him as a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

“Think the word you're looking for is 'sheer', mate.”

Harry didn't turn around, but he knew who it was from the grin that split Liam's face as he looked up. Harry kept his eyes to the table, trying to focus all his attention on just breathing, but it was useless. There was only so long he could go without looking, but it was too soon. Even with two years between them, it was still too soon.

Niall and Liam rose from their seats to gather around Louis, voices raised in a flurry of salutation as they welcomed their friend back. Harry knew he would have to look, would have to greet Louis in some way so that Liam and Niall wouldn't ask questions. Harry took in a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, then summoned up all his strength and stood to his feet.

When Harry turned around, he barely recognised the man in front of him.

Louis's gaze was divided between Niall and Liam, taking each of them in with undisguised affection. A wide smile graced his face, touching his eyes and making them crinkle with warmth. He looked so.... _happy._ The happiness glowed from within him and poured outwards, making Harry feel calm just by looking at him.

It occurred to Harry that, even though it was still Louis, it was not the same man standing in front of him that left two years ago. Not only that, but he looked different as well; less boyish and more like the twenty year old man he was. His skin was lightly sun kissed and he seemed to have more definition on his body. He looked amazing. Harry couldn't take his eyes off him.

When their eyes met, Harry felt breathless.

“Hi,” Louis said.

The smile on his face softened from the wide grin he'd greeted Liam and Niall with, but his eyes were still warm and kind and they made Harry feel so small.

“Hey,” Harry managed to return.

Liam and Niall glanced between them with slightly confused expressions on their faces. They'd probably expected Harry to react to Louis' return in the same way they had, easily and effortlessly. Harry wondered if they sensed the tension, found it impossible to believe they didn't, and he wondered if maybe he should lean in to hug Louis, considering that would be the 'normal' thing to do. However, Harry couldn't bring himself to carry out the gesture. It was just...too much. Louis, seeming to sense this, kept his hands in the pockets of his tight, black jeans.

“How've you been?” Louis asked, finally, breaking the silence.

“Good,” Harry said, “really good. Thanks. You?”

“I'm good.”

Louis nodded, as if the response required further validation. There was something in the way he looked at Harry that made Harry's stomach drop.

“How great is this?” Niall said, slapping a hand on Harry and Louis' shoulders. “The old gang back together!”

“Not quite,” Liam said, “what about Zayn?”

“Zayn's flying over for the gig next week too. I called him last night. He'll be there.”

When they all sat down again, a little bit of the tension relieved itself from Harry's bones. That is, until Niall vacated his original position beside Harry in order to sit in the opposite booth with Liam, forcing Louis to take the seat next to Harry. Luckily, the booths were quite long, so Louis had the good sense to sit as far away from Harry as was socially appropriate.

As the conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next, Harry gradually found himself relaxing into the conversation, despite Louis' burning presence in the seat next to him. In a way, not having to look directly at Louis made it easier for Harry to interact with him. They even managed to laugh together a few times, something that Harry felt was a bit like growth.

What surprised Harry most was how easy-going Louis seemed and how easily he spoke to Harry, in complete contrast to the nerves Harry was feeling. In fact, it almost seemed like Louis wasn't affected at all in the same way that Harry was, and as this realisation slowly sank into Harry's consciousness, his mood took a gradual nosedive.

Why wasn't Louis affected by this in the same way? Had Louis not missed him at all?

Harry's shoulders sagged. No, of course Louis didn't miss him. Harry was probably one of the main reasons he'd decided to leave in the first place.

“So Louis, what happened with you and Eleanor?” Liam finally asked, after they'd discussed Niall's official relationship with Melissa to its maximum capacity, “I thought you guys were in it for the long haul.”

Harry kept his eyes on the fizzing, yellow liquid in his glass. When Louis replied, he spoke easily and without hesitation,

“It just wasn't meant to be, I guess,” he said, “it was too far to travel. Plus, I think she had this thing going on with some guy on her course anyway.”

“That's harsh!” Niall said, aghast, “I can't believe Eleanor would do that!”

“No,” Louis said, instantly, “really, it's my fault. I wasn't being a good boyfriend, I really don't blame her. My heart wasn't in it, I guess.”

Harry couldn't help himself. He slowly peered up from his glass and turned his gaze towards Louis, and he was surprised to find Louis staring right back. It was a calm expression, blue eyes focused intently on him as if waiting for some type of reaction, but Harry frowned and returned his attention to his drink. He tried to conceal the affect his quickening pulse was having on the rhythm of his breathing.

“Did you hear Hazza has a boyfriend now?” Liam asked, innocent eyes focused on Louis.

Harry's eyes shot over to Liam, then immediately diverted to Louis, who seemed unfazed by the news.

“Yeah, I did hear that actually, saw the update on Facebook,” Louis said, turning to Harry, “Dead proud of you, Haz. He seems like a good lad, nice one. ”

Harry was momentarily stunned. Then confused. Then irked.

“Thanks...” _I guess._

Then, as if summoned by the conversation itself, Darren appeared at the table, eyes bright and full of mirth as he greeted Niall and Liam. When his gaze fell on Louis and Harry, who were both sitting beside each other, there was a momentary pause as he silently contemplated where he would sit. Louis, sensing his hesitancy, stood up.

“Here mate, I'll move if you-”

“No no! Don't be silly,” Darren said, ushering Louis closer to Harry and squeezing in beside him, “I'll just sit here, honestly, no big deal.”

Harry's lungs tightened as he felt Louis' arm press against his, thigh to thigh, squished into the booth. Harry could feel Louis shift uncomfortably beside him, the first sign that Louis was perhaps not as cool and collected as he would have them all believe.

“Speak of the devil,” Niall chirped, “Louis, this is Hazza's beau, say 'hi' beau.”

“Hi.” Darren smiled, giving Louis a quick up and down. “The famous Louis Tomlinson. Heard a lot about you, mate.”

Darren held out his hand to shake. Louis took it.

“We were just talking about you,” Louis said, “Dan, isn't it?”

“Close! It's Darren.”

“Oh, sorry, Darren.”

Darren shot Harry a look over Louis' shoulder, as if to ask why -if Louis was such a close friend- did he not know his boyfriend's name? Harry pressed his body further into the wall. He just wanted to disappear.

“So, how do you guys all know each other?” Darren asked.

“Well, Harry and I met on the first day of school.” Niall supplied, “Harry and Tommo go way back. They went to Bible studies together.”

“Liam too.” Harry said, a touch defensive. “You went to our Bible classes, didn't you Liam?”

“Oh, yes. Louis constantly picked on me,” Liam shot Louis a glare across the table, “asshole.”

Louis laughed gleefully, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “Sorry. I'm better now, though.”

“I should like to think so!” Liam said, as if the memories still haunted him. “You and Zayn were horrible.”

“Wow,” Darren said, “you always hear about good boy gone bad, not often you hear about bad boy gone good. I thought you were going to be a minister?”

There was an edge to Darren's slightly amused tone. A silent challenge. Harry felt Louis shift beside him and he could practically feel his hackles rising. Harry prepared himself for a biting reply, but nothing came.

“We all do things we regret,” Louis replied, calmly.

Harry exhaled a shaky breath.

“So Louis,” Liam said, drawing all eyes to him, “what's all this about you going to Africa?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still able to feel Louis' upper arm pressed against his own. He'd almost forgotten about the older boy's imminent trip. Louis laughed nervously, lifting a hand to his fringe and sweeping it to the side with his index finger and thumb.

“Yeah, pretty crazy actually. I'm going to do some football coaching for some of the kids out there and then there's all sorts of community outreach programmes and I get to really make a difference, it's amazing.”

Harry could feel a pinch tugging the corners of his lips as he listened to Louis talk so passionately about something he cared about.

“How long are you going for?” asked Liam.

“A year.”

Harry felt the words, rather than heard them. They were an ache in his chest that he told himself he shouldn't feel, so he buried it deep and convinced himself he didn't feel anything at all.

“A year!” Liam gasped. “What are you going to do when you come back?”

Louis shrugged, fingers dancing along the back of his neck as he rubbed the skin. Harry wondered if he still played piano. When Louis opened his mouth to answer, Niall immediately interrupted.

“When do you head out?”

“Oh...Two weeks.”

“Phew, just enough time to see our gig then!”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled, “wouldn't miss it.”

Harry felt the soft nudge of Louis' arm against his, pressing into him, so slight and subtle that he almost missed its lingering intention. He felt his body go stiff against it, wondering if it was purposeful.

_Catch a grip._

“Me and Hazza have been practising for ages, haven't we?” Niall nodded at Harry, who couldn't seem to form a response. “Got all our songs picked out and everything.”

“What are you playing?” Liam asked.

“Secret,” Niall tapped his nose, “we'll never tell. You have to come to find out.”

Liam scrunched up his nose, but said no more.

“I'm just sorry I'm going to miss it,” Darren said.

Harry hadn't officially invited Darren, something his boyfriend had not only acknowledged but had actively held against him as a guilt-provoking bargaining chip. However, Darren's job required him to work weekends, so he wouldn't have been able to make the show anyway. In a way, Harry was relieved.

“That's OK, you'll get to come to the next one,” Niall said, already banking on their immediate success, “and all the ones after that!”

Harry felt self conscious then, and he could feel his cheeks redden at the insinuation that he and Darren would still be together within the space of several shows. He liked Darren. Really liked Darren. He could see a future with Darren, definitely. So then why did the thought of it send his heart racing and make his legs twitch?

“That's if Harry invites me.”

Harry looked over at Darren. There was a glint in his eye, like he was trying to say something without words, and the barbed edge of his remark clawed deep into Harry's skin.

At that moment, Louis spoke up.

“So, how did you guys meet?”

The question surprised Harry, rendering him momentarily speechless. Darren, however, did not hesitate.

“We met here, actually, on the dance floor. I was admiring Harry's dancing from afar and knew I just had to make my move.”

Harry laughed and pressed his pint glass to his lips.

“Louis you would've loved it, Harry's dancing was priceless,” Niall attempted to do an impression, balling his hands into fists and gyrating his upper torso, “he was like a little baba. A little gay Bambi, trying to find his feet in the dating world.”

Louis laughed, tapping the side of his glass with his fingers before pulling it up to his lips. Harry's face pulsated with embarrassment.

“Don't listen to them, babe,” Darren reached over Louis and pressed his fingers against Harry's, which were still clenched on his glass, “I thought you looked very sexy.”

At that point, Louis sputtered on the gulp he'd just taken from his glass, bursting out into a small, delighted chuckle. Droplets of water fell onto Darren's arm and he immediately pulled it away.

“Sorry,” Louis said, eyes crinkling as he lifted a hand to his mouth to catch the remaining droplets, “it's just, I've seen Harry's dancing and it is not sexy.”

Harry felt a low hum in his belly, fuelled partly by being insulted and partly by mild amusement.

“Heeeyyy!” He said, turning his gaze toward Louis, unable to help his grin, “I am very sexy!”

“You're no Travolta,” Louis smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well neither are you, _Kenickie_!” Harry said indignantly, barely able to keep the triumphant grin from his face.

Louis' mouth fell open, aghast at the younger boy's attempts to bring his past failures back up to him.

“Mrs. Epstein _assured_ me that if Randall hadn't gotten vocal lessons then I definitely would've played Danny Zuko! That was a low blow, Styles.”

Harry smiled, dimples piercing his cheeks, and for a brief moment he felt the anxiety in his bones melt away.

_This is OK. I'm OK. It's been two years and I'm over it._

“Let's not forget Harry's superb acting in the part of Greaser number five,” Niall said, tipping his glass, “a truly superb piece of acting.”

“One where his sexy dancing was _really_ put to use.” Louis added. “Really Harry, it's a wonder Hollywood hasn't scooped you up yet.”

Harry's lips pulled down at the corners, accentuating his too-large mouth,

“I'm not enjoying this anymore,” he said, pouting.

When they were all done laughing, Louis said, “I still remember my lines, y'know.”

“Me too.”

Harry bit his lip between his teeth when he realised his mistake.

Louis turned his head and looked at him, eyes sharp and focused.

Niall's brow furrowed in confusion, “You didn't have any lines. I remember you complaining about it.”

It was true, Harry didn't have any lines. The lines he remembered were Rizzo's lines, which he still recalled from his many practice sessions with Louis. Judging from the subtle shift of Louis' blue orbs over Harry's face, he realised it too.

“My mistake,” Harry muttered into the mouth of his pint glass.

A small crease formed between Louis' eyebrows for an instant, before he tore his attention away and focused on Niall, who was now ranting about the fact that he'd never once attained a role in any of the Halls Cross productions.

Harry exhaled a shaky breath.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing. Louis talked about his experiences in Edinburgh while Liam and Niall waxed poetic about all the adventures he'd missed out on while he'd been gone. In many ways, nothing had really changed. They were all the same boys, though they were now a little older, but everything was much as it had been before.

As the evening progressed, Niall, Liam and Louis eventually went home, leaving Harry and Darren alone in the now quite crowded bar. Harry kept his eyes fixed to the table as Darren turned his gaze towards him and broke out in a wide, knowing grin.

“So,” Darren rested his chin on his hand, faux-casual, “what was all _that_ about?”

There was a teasing nature to his tone as he wiggled his eyebrows, eyes dancing with some sort of repressed glee. Harry was so transparent. He tried to pretend his cheeks weren't glowing.

“What?” Harry asked. “What's what about?”

Darren laughed, amused by Harry's insistence on playing dumb.

“Don't play that shit with me,” he said.

Harry shook his head. Darren sighed, still amused, then bluntly said,

“What's up with you and Louis? Is he your ex?” Harry's mouth dropped open, but Darren simply continued, “I don't mind, Haz, honestly, we all have ex's.”

Harry's mouth flapped open and closed, a hopeless guppy.

“I mean he's cute, if you like that sort of thing,” Darren said, a tiny pinprick of poison evident in his words.

“I just...” Harry attempted to string words together, “I just don't know what would make you say that.”

_What gave it away?_

“I don't know,” Darren shrugged, as if he himself wasn't exactly sure what it was, “it's just the way your friends talk about you two. Like, they say you're all such great friends, but I've never heard you mention him. Then it was so weirdly awkward between you both, I mean, I could practically see your discomfort. It was unsettling.”

Harry shook his head, as if doing so would undermine everything his boyfriend was saying. Would make it all go away.

“So just be honest with me. Was he your boyfriend?”

Darren looked him straight in the eye. Harry replied honestly,

“No,” he said, “Louis was never my boyfriend. Louis had a girlfriend all through high school.”

It killed Harry to talk about this, but he settled his face into a decidedly neutral expression.

“You ever have a crush on him?” Darren laughed, passing off his obvious probing for a light-hearted joke.

“Of course not,” Harry lied so easily that it felt like butter slipping off a hot knife, “he's like a brother to me.”

Darren visibly relaxed, a small smile settling on his face, “OK. I guess I misread it then.”

Harry said nothing. It didn't come naturally to him to lie to people he cared about, but some things were better left unsaid.

After that, Harry and Darren left the bar and Harry made his way home. When he walked into the living room, his mother was sitting on the sofa with a large, white banner hanging over her knees as she stitched felt lettering into the material. When she looked up, Harry gave her a bewildered glance, then playfully blinked his eyes as if to reaffirm the reality of the situation.

“You're _sewing_?”

“Don't tease,” Anne said, shaking dark strands out of her eyes, which had fallen from her messy top-knot, “it's a banner for the church dance. It's to raise money for communities in Africa. I think Johannah is doing it for Louis, a sort of going away present.”

“Louis never mentioned it,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows, “when is it?”

“It's next week, the Saturday after your big gig,” Anne smiled, “so you'll be in great spirits!”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, as if afraid to broach the subject. Sensing this, Anne set down her needle and thread and gave her son a concerned stare,

“What's the matter?” She asked.

“Nothing. Nothing, I'm looking forward to it.”

Harry didn't want his mother to know that ever since he'd 'come out', Reverend Tomlinson had treated him with the same disdain that an animal hater might show a mangy dog. He wasn't sure if it stemmed from the fact that the minister didn't like gay people in general or if he just didn't like Harry for bringing the 'gayness' so close to his son, like an infection that must be contained. Still, his mother was still friends with Louis' parents and Harry didn't want to jeopardise that, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Ah good! Then you won't mind helping with the decorating.” she said, diverting her attention back to her stitch work and dismissing him with a nonchalant wave. “Thanks sweetheart!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head before turning and walking out of the room.

He never did learn how to say no.

-*-

On Sunday morning, Harry woke up to a text from Niall telling him to get out of bed and come to church. Harry scratched his head and stretched, looking at the blurred message with sleepy eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd went to church and failed to see why he should go today.

Harry trailed his thumbs across the keyboard, typing out a vague response.

_Why?:/_

Two minutes later, Niall replied with an attached picture of himself with a disapproving expression.

_Because I said so._

Harry huffed out a laugh and shook his head, snapping a picture of himself tucked up in bed, only his eyes visible over the plump sheets.

_I'll need more reason than that._

Niall sent a reply, sans picture, which simply said,

_Louis is doing a sermon in the church, apparently. Liam told me. I want to go see it and then we can laugh in his face about it after. You in?_

Harry shook his head, immediately overwhelmed by the urge to reject the offer. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised, but he couldn't make himself say no so he simply groaned and quickly typed,

_I'll meet you outside the church gates in twenty minutes._

Once again, he never did learn how to say no.

When Harry finally arrived outside the church, he looked a little worse for wear. His curls were more of a fine frizz in the damp, British weather and the bags under his eyes had settled in for a long holiday. Liam and Niall waited at the gates, talking animatedly as Harry approached. When they turned and spotted him, they broke into wide smiles and threw their arms over his shoulders, escorting him in.

They made their way to a pew at the very front, just in front of the piano and off to the side of the stand where Louis would be performing his sermon. Harry had to admit, he was intrigued to see what Louis would talk about during this surprise stint. He imagined it was probably the Reverend who'd insisted upon this little preach, so proud he was of his son's achievement of graduating from such a prestigious university. Reverend Tomlinson wanted everyone to know who his son was. It was all Louis had ever wanted.

When everyone around them had settled down into their seats, Harry spotted the Reverend in his black robes, hovering near the stand. The choir shuffled in their box, fidgeting with their robes as they jiggled around, before finally settling. It was only when silence descended that Harry was able to spot Louis, tucked close to the choir stand and sitting in a seat that provided easy access to the pulpit. He was dressed in casual black clothes, not wearing robes, which Harry signified to mean that he was not yet in the ranks of his step father, but rather in training. In Louis' hands, Harry spotted a familiar black leather bound Bible, etched in gold script. It was the same Bible Harry had kicked off Louis' beside table.

When Louis' stepfather began to speak, Harry glanced at the floor.

The sermon began in a familiar way, with Reverend Tomlinson greeting the congregation and welcoming new and old faces. The language was fabricated and lyrical, the same old tale Harry had heard a million times before, and it made a bitter taste linger in the back of his throat. These words had meant something to him once, but they no longer held the comfort they once had. Harry had learnt to find his own comfort in himself and he'd recently begun to realise that that was enough.

“My congregation, it is my honour to welcome you all here today, for today is a very special occasion. It is with great joy that I welcome a new member into the inner folds of the church. My son, Louis, has recently graduated from Edinburgh University and has decided to dedicate his life to the service. He, like I, has felt the calling of God and today he has decided to bless us with a small sermon in honour of this important and life changing decision,” Reverend Tomlinson turned to Louis and reached out his hand, “Louis, will you do us the honour?”

Harry's eyes flicked over to Louis and watched as he stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes, before walking over to the podium. Louis smiled as reached the spot of his step father, pressing his mouth close to the microphone and clearing his throat, causing a reverberation to squeak through the church hall. A few of the older members of the congregation groaned and a few younger members of the choir began to giggle. Louis shuffled, then settled his hands of the wooden stand and braced himself, trying again.

When Louis spoke, Harry held his breath. The words poured from his mouth easily and with a certain witty humour that made Louis so charmingly endearing to many people. There was a ripple of laughter that floated across the room as Louis recalled some of his younger memories, of some of the devious things he got up to and some of the things he regretted in his short life. Charming as he was, Harry wondered what the point of the sermon was. So far, all Louis had talked about were some questionable choices he'd made, yet had said nothing about why this was relevant. However, it wasn't long before Louis started talking about repentance. About repenting for the things you've done wrong and asking for forgiveness. Harry felt a grave coldness wash over him.

_Repentance._

“We all have regrets,” Louis said, looking out at his audience, commanding the stage with the same easy grace with which he enraptured the audience with his portrayal of Kenickie, “but it's how we cope with the regrets and how we move forward that counts. In my life, there are things I wish I could take back. I wish I could've been stronger, but I wasn't and now it's too late to take it back, but it's not too late to repent. In repentance, you will find forgiveness. In forgiveness, you will be saved. Thank you.”

There was a burst of polite applause from the audience, and Harry heard Johannah give a soft yip of approval from close by, though he couldn't actually see her. Harry's brain buzzed from Louis' words, replaying over and over in his head with aching regularity. His hands shook. When Niall slapped a hand on his arm, he tried to morph his expression into something somewhat human.

“What a knob,” Niall whispered, “he's going to get a ribbing about this so bad!”

Harry wished he could approach this with the same careless abandon that Niall did, but his throat was too thick to form words. He was glad when the choir started singing.

When the sermon ended, Niall and Liam waited beside the stage for Louis to be done talking to all the ladies and gentlemen of the community. Louis smiled and nodded as they complimented him on a wonderful sermon, whilst some of the older ladies planted butterfly kisses onto his cheeks, leaving pink stains on his skin. When he finally approached them, Niall immediately gave him a nipple twist.

“Ouch! Jesu- I mean, Niall! What did you do that for!” Louis said, rubbing his nipple through his black shirt.

“Almost made you take the Lord's name in vain!” Niall snapped his fingers. “Better luck next time. So close.”

Louis smirked, a challenge in his eyes, “You'll never make me do it.”

“I bet you I can.”

Louis smirked, then shrugged in a ' _try if you like_ ' way.

“I liked your speech,” Liam said, giving him a thumbs up, “well done, Tommo. University taught you something!”

“How to make a good speech?” Louis smiled, “Thanks Li.”

“I must admit, it was pretty good,” Niall said, being serious for a moment, “so good, in fact, that I can't take the piss out of you as much as I wanted, which is really disappointing.”

Louis laughed, a loud chuckle, then cast his eyes over to Harry as if waiting for his response. His eyes were glittering with anticipation. Harry avoided his gaze, wondering why on earth Louis would seek out his opinion. After all, wasn't Harry just another one of his 'regrets'? Something Louis had probably spent countless nights asking for forgiveness for? Jesus, he'd been such a fucking idiot. A low hum of despair and anger coiled in his guts, turning his face red.

In a way Harry should thank Louis, for reminding him just how much their lives had veered in complete opposite directions.

“It was good,” Harry replied, tersely.

Louis' face twitched, a tiny micro-expression that caused the skin between his eyebrows to pucker and a line to form at the edge of his lips. Before he could respond, Harry immediately turned his head and scuffed his feet on the wooden floorboards.

“Anyway, listen, I have to go now,” he pointed his thumb towards the door, “I told Darren I'd meet him later, so...”

“Tell him to meet us here,” Niall shrugged, “we can all do something.”

Harry was about to say no, but he was beat to it by Louis,

“It's OK, I need to go back to my house anyway. Mum invited some people around to talk about the church dance next week,” Louis rolled his eyes, then flashed a smile, “I guess the ladies of the church need someone to entertain them. You'd swear I was _moving_ to Africa, the way my mum's been acting.

“You're a wild man, Tommo,” Niall teased, “tell the ladies of the church that I said Hi! I'll save them a dance next week.”

“All of them?” Louis raised his eyebrows, “I don't want any fights breaking out, it's a peaceful affair, Niall.”

“I am very smooth, none of them will ever suspect they're being played.”

“That Irish swag,” Liam shook his head, as if remorseful for his own lack of swag, “you can't teach it.”

“Sure can't,” Louis said, then waved his hand, popping his thumb towards the door, “anyway I better head off.”

His eyes flicked from Liam to Niall, bypassing Harry altogether, “See you guys later.”

With that, Louis turned on his heel and made his way out of the hall. The hot sun burned through the open doors of the church as he walked down the aisle, his silhouette a shadow. When he was finally out of sight, Harry let out a breath and looked over to Liam and Niall, who were still discussing the dance.

“I told my mum I'd help with decorations,” Liam rolled his eyes, “I hate decorating.”

“I'm helping too, bro, don't worry. How much decorating can a church hall really need? We'll be done in no time. How about you, Haz? You on the decorating committee as well?”

“Yeah, I am. I'm looking forward to it.”

Niall let out a huff, “Of course you are. You love decorating! You got an A-star in Theatre Studies for set design, for goodness sakes. This is going to be Hell.”

It was true, Harry did love decorating, he couldn't even deny it, so he tried to make Niall feel better instead. “I won't be _that_ particular. I'm not getting graded for decorating the church hall. I don't even know what the theme is.”

“It's _Great British Bake Off,_ everyone is bringing cake and Louis' mum is going to be Mary Berry,” Niall had to stop himself from giggling at the look on Harry's face, “no joke.”

“OK.”

He tried to remain casual, but his mind was skimming through ideas as he stared at Niall and only half-listened to the words coming out of his friend's mouth.

“I thought you had to meet Darren?” Niall said, snapping Harry from his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, I am...I just got distracted,” Harry shook his head, “before I go though, how are we travelling to London? It's only a few days away and I guess we should start thinking about this stuff.”

“Well, we can get the train down and then back early the next morning? Or we could leave that night? Melissa is coming though, so I might stay even if you decide to leave, no offence,” Niall raised an eyebrow.

“None taken. I guess we could book a hostel or something? It shouldn't be too expensive if Zayn and Liam are coming.”

“Louis too,” Niall said, “that'll work out pretty cheap.”

“Yeah...”

 _Just another one of his regrets, aren't you_ ?

“Great, settled then. We'll head out on Saturday, do the show, sleep over, then catch the train in the morning. Amazing!” Niall said, smiling triumphantly, then walked up the aisle towards the exit. “It sucks Darren can't go though. I think he really wants to be there.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, “It's OK though, like you said, there will be other times.”

“Yeah, but I think he wanted to be there for this one. It's kind of a big deal, I guess. I mean, this could be IT.”

Niall's optimism was contagious and his avid faith that he and Harry would become famous no matter what was truly motivating. More importantly, he made Harry believe it was possible. That anything was possible.

“Still, I've got to admit,” Niall said, cautiously, as if unsure whether he should say it at all, “part of me is glad it'll just be the lads again, y'know? What with Louis going off to Africa and Zayn in Brighton, it just feels kind of...right. Like everything is working out like it should. One last hurrah.”

Harry smiled and nodded, though his brain felt dead. _Nothing_ felt the way it should, not in his mind anyway. Everything felt so uncomfortably wrong to him, like a stone in his shoe that he couldn't shake loose.

When he finally parted from Niall and Liam and met with Darren, the events of the day had created a dour mood within him and it followed them around like a cloud. Darren only made it halfway through his pasta salad lunch before he set down his fork, sat back and crossed his arms,

“Right, that's it,” he said, “what's wrong?”

Harry pouted, “Nothing.”

“Something is wrong. I know it is, just talk to me about it.”

There was a pleading edge to his tone, his patience crumbling at the edges. He and Harry had had this fight before, about Harry keeping things bottled up. Being older, Darren had learned to share his secrets long ago, wearing them like an armour. Harry was still learning how to do this. He'd made significant steps, but he was still a novice in the art of being true to himself.

“It's nothing,” Harry said, picking at the chips on his plate, “I was just thinking about this gig. I'm nervous.”

It was true, in a way. Harry was definitely nervous about the gig, but that wasn't all and he knew it.

“You're going to kill it, babe, honest,” Harry felt fingers on top of his hand, stilling his fork, “you're so fucking talented it makes me sick to my stomach.”

Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

“You think?”

“I don't think, I know,” Darren winked, patting Harry's hand before taking away his own, “I've heard your stuff and it's really good. You and Niall are awesome, no question about it.”

“Thanks babe,” Harry smiled.

The conversation made him feel only slightly less anxious.

When they finished their lunch, they took the scenic route back to Harry's house, passing the park on the way. The sight of the old swing set and the creaking, rusting obstacle course reminded Harry of being eleven years old again. It also reminded him of being punched in the face by Kurt Michaels, then picked up from the ground by Louis and taken home. He closed his eyes against the memory. When he opened them again, it was to Darren's inquisitive expression.

“Y'know, I don't know if you know this about walking, but it generally helps to keep your eyes open,” he said, “just a tip for the future.”

“Sorry,” Harry's brow furrowed, “I was just thinking.”

“You spend too much time in your head, you know that?” Darren's voice was soft with concern, “But listen, could you maybe step out of it for a second while I say something?”

Darren turned on the spot, causing them to stop walking. Harry noticed the slightly awkward way Darren was holding himself as he reached into his pocket and pulled out something in his clenched fist.

“I know you're really nervous about your gig and impressing the big shot talent guy or whatever, so I got you something.”

Harry's eyes widened as he peered at the clenched fist, which he supposed held this 'something.' He smiled and looked at it from above, then below, examining it from all angles.

“Wow, don't push the boat out for me or anything,” he teased, alluding towards the small size of the box.

Darren used the clenched fist to bump Harry's shoulder.

“It's the thought that counts, ass!”

“OK, OK,” Harry laughed, rubbing his arm, “what is it?”

Darren bit his lip and then slowly opened his hand. Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he took the small piece of plastic from Darren's outstretched palm, electric pink glinting in the sun. On it, the letters 'HS' were engraved in deep black.

“You got me a plectrum?” Harry said.

“A lucky plectrum,” Darren nodded, “just...something to say good luck.”

Harry felt a swell of something in his chest as he looked from the plectrum in his hands to Darren. He smiled, dimples showing, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

“Thank you,” he said, inhaling deeply, “it's great. Thank you.”

Darren smelled of washed sheets and cinnamon candles.

“You're welcome...”

A silence followed and Harry's body reacted to the sound. It felt a lot like there were words that could and should fill it, but Harry didn't want to say them. He didn't want Darren to say them either, but he feared that he might, and his pulse fluttered at the thought. The sensation was not pleasant.

Darren said nothing. Harry broke the embrace before he could.

-*-

A week later, Harry and Niall set out with their gear to take the capital by storm.

After a few close calls, where Niall thought he'd forgotten his wallet (he found it in the inside pocket of his duffel coat) and they waited at the wrong platform for over ten minutes before having to run to the correct one at the last second, Harry and Niall eventually made it on the train to London. They wedged themselves into a four seater, sitting opposite each other across a table. As they waited out the two hour journey, they talked about all the things they were going to do once they inevitably became globally famous.

“I think I'll buy a car first,” Niall said, drumming his fingers on the table, “I always wanted a Range Rover.”

“Niall, you're going to be globally famous and you're going to drive a Range Rover?” Harry raised his eyebrow, “You can literally get any car you want.”

“It'll be one of those kitted out ones though, like I'll have everything in there,” Niall mused, “I'll have everything but the kitchen sink. Might even throw that in too though, might come in handy. Then I'd buy a party house. Zayn, Liam and Louis could live in it and we'll all just never grow up,” Niall smiled, contently, “it'd be sweet.”

Harry laughed.

“Mind you, not sure how much partying Louis will be doing once he's an ordained minister,” Niall said, then frowned, “it's bizarre isn't it? The thought of Louis being a minister?”

Harry nodded, “I guess that's what he wants.”

He couldn't bring himself to say much on the matter.

“Yeah, but...sometimes I don't know,” Niall shook his head.

Harry's ears pricked up. He felt a soft pull of interest tugging on his insides and he couldn't stop himself from asking, “Don't know what?”

“I just sometimes don't think he really _wants_ to be a minister,” Niall said, simply, “like maybe he's just doing what his parents want. I mean, you remember Louis? He was an absolute little shit, he was so wild, and I just can't make sense of what made him turn from that into a Bible pusher, y'know?” Niall shook his head, as if he'd been trying to make sense of this for a while, “I mean, it happened so suddenly, didn't it? One day he was sneaking out of his house, meeting Eleanor, pulling pranks with Zayn. Then it was like a switch flicked.”

Harry listened to the words, trying not to react too noticeably. If Niall knew the whole truth about the things he and Louis had kept hidden throughout the years, it would not seem such a mystery for why Louis -the minister's son- felt the need to throw himself into religion to be saved from something he'd spent his entire life being told was a sin.

“I don't know,” Harry mumbled, “I guess it's up to him.”

“I know,” Niall said, “it's just sad, I guess. He should do whatever makes him happy.”

Harry had been trying to tell him that for years.

When they finally arrived at Euston station, Niall and Harry lugged their gear all the way to the club where they were supposed to be playing that night. When they finally approached the red brick building, they looked up to see _The Smoke and Dive_ written on the front in bold letters. Harry laughed at the sight of it, then turned to Niall, who beamed back. They'd finally made it.

They walked down an old alley along the side of the pub. They were told to knock on the black door when they arrived and they would be greeted by a stage assistant, who would take their gear and set it up on stage in preparation for the night's performance. When they knocked on the door, it opened and revealed a short girl with red hair and glasses, dressed in black. She held a clipboard and made short, clipped comments to them as she lead them through the darkness of the backstage area and through a curtain that lead onto a small stage.

Harry and Niall looked out at the club from the stage. It was smaller than they'd expected. The floor was black and bare near the stage, where the audience would be, leading out towards the bar which was positioned along the back wall. There was also a balcony on the top floor, where people could stand and watch from above. It was only now that Harry was beginning to realise just what they'd let themselves in for. He swallowed and wondered nervously where the talent scout would be standing.

The stage was bare and minimalistic, with a black backdrop that reminded Harry of some sort of galactic print. The floorboards were wooden and creaked loudly when the small redhead pounded over the stage, writing things on her clipboard and telling Niall to set his drum kit over by the edge of the stage. Harry followed with his guitar, leaving it beside Niall's rounded cases, then peered at the girl for further instruction.

“You can leave now,” she said, shortly, “come back around four and you can have some rehearsal time before you have to go on-stage. We need you to play an hour's set and if you don't fill that time slot, you're not getting your deposit back.”

She turned and left without even so much as a goodbye. Harry wondered what had happened to her in life to make her so miserable.

When they left the building and found themselves standing in the dirty alley down the side of the pub once more, Niall turned to Harry and said,

“Is it wrong that I found her kind of hot?”

Harry burst out into laughter.

After they had checked into their hostel, they went to a Starbucks and grabbed lunch. As they sat at a small, wooden table, Niall decided to text Liam and ask what time the rest of them would approximately be arriving. Liam was the only one in their group with a car of his own; a silver Vauxhall that they'd nicknamed _The Coke Can._ Since Niall and Harry had to be down early to leave off their equipment, they'd opted to take the train while everyone else had to endure Liam's by-the-book driving.

“Who is Liam bringing, anyway?” Harry asked, sipping on a frappucino.

Niall counted them off on his fingers, “Melissa, Tommo, Zayn and Perrie. Zayn just messaged me and said they'd be here just in time for the show, if Liam gets above fifty.”

Harry chuckled, “They won't be making it then?”

“You said it! Tommo hasn't experienced Liam's driving yet, it's going to drive him nuts. I can see it now,” Niall held out his hands, as though holding an imaginary steering wheel, “ _Liam, the fuckin' cyclists are overtaking us! Your hands just slipped from ten-and-two, Liam!”_

Harry had to laugh. He could practically hear Louis' voice. The thought of seeing him made Harry nervous. He hadn't spoken to Louis since that day at the church service.

“Having said that, Louis' not really one to talk,” Niall said, “when I visited him in Edinburgh he drove like a fuckin' maniac.”

Harry felt a twinge in his chest. Niall had visited Louis several times in Edinburgh and had always asked Harry to join him, but Harry had always said no. He thought he was saving himself from a potentially awkward situation by denying the request, but all it had done was prolong the inevitable. Did he really think he could avoid Louis forever? Harry thought he needed time to get over Louis, get over whatever remained of their confusing relationship, but all it had done was create a scar that could never quite heal. Harry cleared his throat and glanced at his watch,

“It's almost four, should we head back and start rehearsing?”

Niall nodded, lifting his mug to down the last shot of coffee at the bottom, then slammed it on the table.

“Let's do this.”

-*-

Harrybit the skin around his fingernails until they bled.

In the backstage dressing room of _The Smoke and Dive_ , Harry sat on a red sofa that felt like it was made from rough velvet; itchy and uncomfortable with a variety of questionable stains. The walls of the room were covered in drawings and writing of all the bands that had been there before them- up-and-coming singers and songwriters with dreams of stardom as big as his and Niall's. Harry wondered how many of those bands achieved even a fraction of what he hoped to achieve. Probably not many, he realised, then tried to suppress the feeling of panic rising in his chest.

Everything he'd been dreaming about was resting on a silver platter, ready for him to take. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. The thought of doing so made his heart race. He wished Niall would come back and calm him down, distract him from his own thoughts. Unfortunately, Niall had went out into the crowd to speak to everyone before the show started. It was 6:30 p.m now, only half an hour before they were due to go on stage.

Harry took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaled. He put his head in his hands and tried to knead the tension away from his temples. At that moment, the door to the dressing room opened and the red-headed girl who'd greeted them that morning stood in the frame.

“You have half an hour, just to let you know. We have the stage set up.”

She stepped out of the room and closed the door without a second glance, leaving Harry wide-eyed. After a moment, he lowered his head and clasped his hands together in front of him, leaning forward on the sofa as if ready to up and run at any moment. There was a second soft knock on the door and Harry wondered if it was the red headed girl come back to give him some more curt instructions.

It struck him as odd that she would knock.

“Come in,” he said, nerves wound so tight he had to stop himself from snapping, “it's open.”

The door creaked open and there, standing at the entrance, was Louis. Harry immediately reacted to the sight, body straightening as he took in the older boy's lean frame and almond shaped eyes. He was dressed in a knitted jumper, which was frayed on the cuffs of his sleeves from where he'd pulled it up over his hands and picked at the fabric for so long. When Louis stepped into the room, it was with a hesitancy that suggested he wasn't sure if he was welcome.

“Hi,” Louis said, hand still on the door handle.

“Hey...you found me.”

“Yeah,” Louis huffed out a laugh, “Niall told me you'd be in here. Had to practically bulldoze that redhead stagehand to let me through.”

Louis let go of the door handle and risked a few steps into the room. When he realised Harry wasn't going to shun him, he took a few more steps, until he was standing right in front of him on the sofa. He swept his fringe to the side before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I was beginning to think he'd forgotten where I was,” Harry said, “we're supposed to go on in twenty minutes and I've spent the last ten sitting here by myself.”

Louis laughed, “We did question him about that, actually.”

“And?”

“He said you're a big boy and that he needs a drink,” Louis said, “typical Irish response.”

Harry tried to smile, but he was too busy worrying to muster the energy.

“You look like you could use a drink too,” Louis sat down beside him on the sofa, “everything good?”

Harry wondered what would happen if he lied and said everything was fine. However, when he turned his head and looked into Louis' eyes, he knew lying was impossible. Louis would see right through him.

“I'm scared,” he said, finally, “this is such a huge thing for me and for Niall, I just don't want to blow it.”

“Hey,” Louis bumped Harry's shoulder with his own, “you won't blow it. That talent scout is going to see you play and he'll sign you up on the spot, trust me Haz.”

Harry's gaze lingered on Louis' for a moment before he forced himself to look away. He licked his lips,

“Thanks,” he said, “really, thank you. I needed to hear that, I think. Maybe.”

“You seriously have to learn to believe in yourself more,” Louis shook his head, “you never have any confidence in yourself. Remember when you thought you were no good at football? Absolute bullshit! Once I gave you a couple of pointers you were golden. This is exactly the same.”

Harry felt his insides warm with the memory of Louis coaching him through rainy days on the football pitch. He remembered Louis running across the field and grabbing his shoulders, shaking him lightly before bending down to adjust Harry's foot, showing him the best position for a clean kick.

“Too bad you can't coach me through this,” Harry said.

He'd intended it to come out as a joke, but it sounded a little too serious. A little too personal.

“I'll be in the front row if you need me.”

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet soft blue. Louis stood up from the sofa,

“Anyway,” he said, turning around, “I just came to say good luck for the show and...” he reached into his pocket and fumbled for something, then pulled it out in a quick, awkward movement. He licked his lips, “I also just wanted to give you this. It's nothing, to be honest, just something to say good luck.”

Harry looked into Louis' outstretched palm and his heart immediately dropped into his throat. It was a green plectrum with a star emblazoned in the middle. There was a hole drilled into the top in order to attach it to key rings. Harry could hardly believe what he was looking at. The purple plectrum in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole there. He tentatively reached out and took the plastic disc from Louis' hand, examining the five, jagged points of the star. When his eyes met Louis', he could see the nerves there. Louis' throat rippled as he swallowed.

“This is for me?” Harry asked, dumbly, for who else would it be for? The unexpectedness of the gesture made his brain feel thick and cloudy.

“No,” Louis replied, lips twisting into a sarcastic smile, “I got it for myself then realised, y'know, I can't actually _play_ the guitar, so...of course it's for you.”

Harry couldn't bring himself to laugh, he was too busy staring at the offering in his hand.

“Why a star?” he asked, finally.

“Jeez Curly, thought that would be fairly self explanatory,” Louis said, then softly explained, “I just thought it would be good luck, that's all. I saw it in the music store when I was buying sheet music and I just...I thought of you.”

Harry held the pick with his thumb and index finger, then clenched it in his hand and pushed it into his pocket.

_It doesn't mean anything. It will never mean what you want it to mean._

The words were brutal and vicious in his mind, as if being cruel would snap him out of whatever candied notions he may have about Louis' intentions.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to push any emotion from his voice, “you didn't have to get me anything.”

Louis' shoulders dropped, “I know, but I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

Louis turned on his heel to leave the room, but stopped himself before he completed the action.

“Harry,” he said, “I think we should talk. When we get back to Holmes Chapel, I mean. Just...I just have some stuff I want to-”

“Louis...”

“I promise it's not...” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. He'd clearly intended to be more tactful in his approach to this subject, “I just have to say some things and I want to do it before I leave next week. I owe it to you.”

Harry looked up into Louis' pleading eyes. He couldn't bring himself to pay attention to his brain, screaming that this was a bad idea.

“OK,” he said, “yeah, when we get back, we can talk.”

Louis nodded, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving Harry alone and feeling twice as anxious as before.

Harry breathed in and out, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the two plectrums, purple against green.

Five minutes later, Niall burst into the room with a red face that shone out against the blackness of his outfit and blonde of his hair. Harry's eyes shot up to him and he stood to his feet.

“This is it,” Niall said, eyes fixed on Harry.

The girl with red hair appeared in the doorway, right on queue, and motioned for them to follow her. Harry and Niall both looked at each other in the silence of the dressing room. It felt like the calm before the storm. When they arrived at the side of the stage, Harry turned to Niall and whispered,

“Good luck.”

“Good luck, Styles. Let's not fuck this up, yeah?”

They both stepped out onto the stage.

The audience hummed as they were immediately heckled by a few large, stout men at the corner of the bar. Harry couldn't hear what they said, but he's sure he heard the words 'pretty boys' somewhere in the thrum. He ignored it and turned his attention to the crowd, searching for familiar faces. It wasn't long before he spotted Zayn, Perrie, Melissa and Liam near the front. At first he couldn't see Louis, but it didn't take long before he spotted him standing beside Zayn, right at the front. They waved and beamed up at him, eager to show their enthusiastic support. Perrie's violet hair bobbed on her shoulders as she reached down into her bag and pulled out a Sony camcorder, holding it up and pointing to it, before giving a thumbs up sign. Harry blew her a kiss.

The stage had been set up in a simple manner, with Harry's guitar propped just to the side and in front of Niall's drum kit. The blonde took a seat behind the set and lifted his sticks from his back pocket, twirling them in his fingers. Harry lifted his guitar from its holster and pulled the strap over his neck before approaching the microphone. He pulled a few strings to check they were properly tuned, then cleared his throat.

“Hello everyone,” he said, deep voice reverberating around the bar, “this is our first time playing here at _Smoke and Dive_. My name's Harry and this is Niall,” he pointed his thumb back at the blonde, “and we're called One Direction. This first song we're going to play is actually a cover. It's a song by The Killers and...” he paused, swallowing hard, “I used to stay up all night listening to songs from this album. This is called _All These Things That I've Done._ ”

As he began to play, he felt the anxiety slowly filtering out of his system and into the music. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost imagine it was just him and Niall in their little rehearsal studio above that old Chinese restaurant. He looked up at the smiling, apple flushed faces of the audience and they all seemed to sway, like the calming waves of an ocean, and for the first time the thought crossed his mind that maybe he _could_ do this. Maybe Louis was right, maybe he just needed to have some confidence in himself.

Just the thought of the older boy sent Harry's eyes searching for him. He peered across at the spot where he knew Louis to be and when he glanced over, he was greeted with crinkly eyes and a soft smile. Louis gave him a thumbs up, a small gesture that he couldn't miss even if he'd tried, and it immediately set his mind at ease. He was doing fine. Louis said he was doing fine. Still, once he'd actually looked at Louis, it became an active force of will power to pull his gaze away. Harry’s eyes kept being drawn back to that same spot at the front of the crowd, to those same eyes and that same smile. The same eyes that he'd spent countless nights trying to forget, only to end up falling hopelessly back into.

Harry pulled his gaze away and set it firmly ahead of him. He wouldn't allow himself the indulgence. He made his way through two more songs without looking at Louis.

So far, everything was going smoothly. Smoother than Harry ever could have imagined and he found himself turning to Niall and grinning widely. However, when Harry turned back around to face the crowd, he noticed a small commotion coming from the section of the audience where Liam, Zayn, Perrie and Louis were situated. When he cast his eyes down to take in the scene, his heart almost stopped in his chest.

Darren was there.

Harry looked down at the familiar face of his boyfriend smiling up at him, hair curled back into a windswept quiff while his eyes glittered under the dimmed ceiling lights. When he noticed Harry had spotted him, he gave a little wave, and his expression shined with uncontrollable glee. It seemed apparent from the looks on Liam, Zayn and Louis' faces that none of them had expected the surprise arrival. Louis' face in particular held a particularly sour expression, like he'd just bit into the bitter rind of a lemon. It was the first sign of open disdain that Harry had seen Louis show towards Darren, and he'd done it at a time when he thought Harry wouldn't notice. However, Harry was in no position to process this information as his eyes scanned over Darren's face.

What is he _doing_ here?

Harry felt the weight of the green plectrum in his hand, burning into his skin. He turned around and shoved the plastic into his pocket, replacing it with the gleaming purple before Darren could notice. Fuck. Harry was so distracted by the sudden arrival that he forgot for a moment he was on stage, in front of an audience that expected him to perform another song. He eventually pulled himself together enough to make his way through some of the original songs that he and Niall had written, which received a very positive response from the audience.

Harry couldn't stop the smile from almost cracking his face in two when the crowd cheered and called out for more. More of _their_ songs. Songs that he'd written in the privacy of his bedroom that he thought nobody else would ever hear.

“Thank you so much,” Harry said, overwhelmed by the response, “thank you. This means so much to us. This next song will be our final one this evening,” Harry couldn't believe an hour had passed so quickly. He never wanted it to end, “It's a cover of an Annie Lennox song. My mum used to buy her albums when I was a kid and this one just always stood out to me. This is _Cold_.”

As the music began to play, the house lights lowered and the bulbs planted around the rim of the stage turned blue, casting an icy shadow across Harry's face. He was worried about performing this particular song, afraid his vocals weren't strong enough to carry the supernatural tone of the music, or that the changes he'd made to accommodate the guitar and drums in place of the original music would not work. However, when his queue came and he stepped up to the microphone, he was surprised by the intensity of his own voice as he sang the opening lyric. The force of it silenced the crowd. He began to feel that same burning force that pulled his eyes towards Louis. He told himself not to look.

_Come to me, run to me, do and be done with me..._

_Don't I exist for you? Don't I still live for you?_

Harry stepped closer to the microphone as he sang the rest of the opening verse, fingers white as he held tight to the neck of his guitar.

_Catch me and let me dive under,_

_for I want to swim in the pools of your eyes..._

He risked a glance at Louis, a brief peek, then tore his eyes away. It felt like years of repressed emotions pouring out of him. Maybe he wanted Louis to know it was about him. Maybe it had always been about him. Maybe that's why Harry had insisted that he and Niall play this song mere days after finding out Louis would be at the show.

It didn't take long before Louis noticed these subtle glances. Harry took a vague satisfaction in having the other boy's attention so firmly focused on him. It was all he'd ever wanted when he was younger and only now was he finally getting it. All of Louis' attention focused on him, so he could finally say everything he'd been too afraid to say at the time. At some point during the song Harry didn't even try to look away anymore, becoming so lost in the moment that he couldn't find his way out. He shook his head,

_But the more I want you the less I get..._

_Ain't that just the way things are?_

Harry's attention was diverted by a jostling movement in the crowd. He shifted his eyes to a spot where an individual was fighting their way through the thickness of the audience, creating a trail through the squirming bodies that immediately closed as he passed through. Harry squinted, keeping his eyes on this frantic figure as he tried to pay attention to the music. A low murmuring broke the previous silence of the crowd.

Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly recognised the man making his way towards the front door and he immediately took a step forward, as if he intended to run off stage and follow. Of course he couldn't do that, he knew he couldn't, and his feet felt leaden and useless at the realisation. He watched helplessly as Liam followed Darren through the crowd.

When the song finally ended, Harry pulled his guitar from his shoulders and ran down the side steps that lead from the stage onto the main floor of the pub, into the crowd. The audience let out a cheer, clapping and hooting their satisfaction at the performance, even while the lead singer made a mad dash for the exit. In the back of his mind, Harry processed Louis' voice calling out to him above the cacophony of noise, but he ignored it. The only thing on his mind was following Darren.

When he bolted out the front entrance to the pub and found himself in the middle of the cold, wet London pavement, he looked from left to right for any sign of Darren. He saw nothing. He swept a hand back through his mop of curls, letting the rain saturate each stand, before making an attempt to scour the area for any signs of him. He walked up and down the same street, plus several surrounding it, in the hopes that he'd see his boyfriend, but nothing. Finally, he sat himself down on the kerb in defeat, pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead. Breaths left his lungs in sharp, jagged puffs.

After a moment he felt someone sit down beside him.

“Find him?” Niall asked.

Harry's stomach dropped at the realisation that Niall didn't even have to question who Harry was looking for, nor why he was looking for him. Niall knew. He may not understand, but he knew. There was a kindness in his eyes as he regarded Harry with gentle consideration.

“No,” Harry said, voice low, “he's gone.”

“He might come back,” Niall said, “if you give him a bit of time.”

“He won't,” Harry replied, blunt, “I know he won't.”

Niall made no comment. Probably because he knew Harry was right.

“You're missing the party going on inside,” Niall said, kicking a stone with the toe of his Converse, “come on, let's go. You can talk to him when you get back to Holmes Chapel.”

“I need to talk to him now,” Harry said, clearing his throat and trying not to become frantic, “I need to...just...explain or something.”

“Explain what?” Niall asked. When Harry looked up into Niall's eyes, he lowered his brows, “Harry, what's going on?”

A long silence passed.

“I'll tell you,” Harry breathed, “just not now. Soon, yeah? I just can't right now.”

Niall nodded and said no more on the issue. Harry could tell by his pursed lips that he was forcing himself not to comment.

“Can you please tell everyone that I'm going home,” Harry said, standing to his feet, “I just...I really need to think for a while. I'll catch the train or something. I just need to pick up my guitar and the stuff from the hostel and then I'll go home.”

“I'll take you home, Harry.”

Harry and Niall both turned around to face Liam, who was drenched to the bone, his short hair and checked shirt sticking to his skin.

“Liam,” Harry said, “did you find him?”

“No,” Liam shook his head, “he was gone before I had the chance to catch up with him. I tried phoning him but it's switched off,” he shrugged, “sorry mate.”

Harry shook his head, completely overwhelmed by his own stupidity. He pressed his face into his hands.

“Hey mate,” Liam's hand fell on his shoulder, “it's OK. Here, come with me, I'll take you home. The others can grab a train in the morning, come on.”

With that, Harry followed Liam through the winding London streets back to his silver Vauxhall. When the doors closed and Liam started the engine, Harry stared out the window and let the feeling of numb realisation wash over him. Not only had he probably ruined his chance at a record deal, but he'd also ruined his relationship. And what for?

Harry thought of Louis' face in the crowd, lips parted as Harry stared down from the stage. As quickly as the image came to him, Harry banished it. _And what for_?

Nothing.


	8. In the Woods Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews and kudos for the last chapter. Sorry it took so long for this update, it's been a busy time for me. This chapter is inspired by Hozier's 'In the Woods Somewhere'. I feel like maybe this whole story is inspired by Hozier's album, to be honest.

-*-

Several days passed before Harry received a text from Darren.

When Harry's phone buzzed in his pocket as he lay on the bed in his room, locked away from the world, his heart thumped in his chest as he opened up the text and read the curt, single sentence.

_We need to talk, meet me in the park in 20 minutes._

Harry would've felt annoyed if he hadn't so utterly deserved it.

He pulled on his jacket and walked ten minutes to the park, casting his eyes over the empty swing set. He'd had one-too-many loaded conversations in this God forsaken park and he was beginning to loathe the sight of it. He walked over and seated himself on a wooden bench, listening to the wind howl around him. It whipped his hair against his face, forcing him to tie the loose strands up into a bun.

When Darren arrived, he looked painfully good. He was dressed in a green shirt with his hair loose and shaggy, like he hadn't bothered to style it in days. There was also a slight growth to his beard, a far cry from his usual close shave. Darren attempted to smile at Harry, but it turned into a grimace. When Darren took a seat, it was as far away from Harry as he could manage.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Harry's eyes fixed on the other man's every movement, “how are you?”

“Been better,” Darren grunted, not even attempting to meet Harry's gaze.

Harry swallowed his nerves at the bitter remark.

“I tried calling you,” Harry thumbed the frayed sleeves of his anorak, “I wasn't sure where you went after you left the gig.”

A long pause.

“Harry,” he said, fixing the younger boy with a steely gaze, “you _told_ me there was nothing going on between you two.”

Harry's breath cut short in his lungs. Darren was in no mood for wasting time with polite small talk. He had questions. Questions Harry owed him answers too. Harry's mouth felt dry when he replied,

“Nothing is going on,” he said, “not anymore, anyway. Not for a very long time.”

“But there was something,” Darren muttered, then repeated, “you told me there was _nothing_ between you and Louis.”

“That was a lie,” Harry whispered.

“I know it was!” Darren said, “I just wish you'd told me before you humiliated me in front of all your friends in a crowd of people!”

“I'm sorry.”

He really didn't know what to say. Darren huffed out a breath and folded his arms,

“I knew you were lying, I just...I _knew_ it,” Darren said, clearly annoyed that he hadn't listened to his own gut, “you were so damn evasive about him.”

Harry closed his eyes, “I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

Darren stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing up what question he wanted the answer to most.

“Was he your boyfriend? Or are you just obsessed with him?”

_Obsessed_ .

The word 'fan-girl' floated through Harry's mind. Thirteen-year-old Louis had been right all along.

“We were never really anything,” Harry replied, as honestly as he could. How could he answer questions he didn't fully know the answers to himself? “He was too afraid of being caught, his stepfather is the minister in our church. I don't think Louis thought kissing me meant anything more than that we were just really good friends.”

“Fuck, some friendship,” Darren said, bitterly.

Harry ignored the spiteful comment, “I just never got the chance to get over him. He would always keep pushing me away and pulling me back, it seemed so effortless to him. I just wanted him to feel the same way about me as I did for him.”

“Do,” Darren corrected, “still _do_ feel for him.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Darren sighed,

“So, does he feel the same way about you now? Is that why he's back?”

Harry thought about it for the moment, then slowly shook his head,

“I don't think so. I mean, he's going away next week to Africa for a year to do missionary work. He said he wants to talk to me about everything before he leaves. Closure, probably.”

Darren nodded slowly. He looked like he couldn't stand to listen to any more.

“I think you both need that,” Darren replied.

Harry looked up at the soft tone to his voice. Darren stared at the gravel on the ground, scuffing it with the heel of his boot. After a moment of silence, he stood up and turned to look down at Harry,

“Can you please just promise me that you'll get some answers though? Whatever is going on with you two, please sort it out before you make anyone else feel as shit as I feel right now. Because I've got to tell you, it sucks.”

Harry felt a plume of guilt rise through his chest.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” he said.

“I know,” Darren replied with a humourless laugh, “and that just makes it worse. You couldn't even stop yourself from looking at him, not even when I was right there! I can't believe I skipped work to be with you and you just...actually, you know what? I'm glad. I'm glad I saw it with my own two eyes, because then you had to be honest. I'm glad I got the proof I needed that I wasn't being some neurotic, clingy boyfriend.”

“I never thought that about you,” Harry said, “I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your apologies, Harry,” he rolled his eyes, “just sort out this mess you have with Louis Tomlinson and forget my number.”

With that, Darren turned on his heel and walked away, stomping on Harry's heart as he left.

-*-

There was crepe paper in Harry's hair.

Little tiny dots of colourful crepe paper that Gemma had been secretly dropping into his curls one by one for over an hour. By the time he realised she was doing this, his hair looked like a vial of pot-pourri. He shook out the strands and looked over towards the other side of the hall, where Gemma was standing on a chair, hanging up a banner and trying to stifle her giggles as she peered over at him.

Everyone had been decorating the church hall for over two hours now and they were almost done. Niall and Liam had also been forced into helping, but they'd long since given up, having turned their attention to sneaking samples of cakes that had been baked for the event. A long table at the side of the hall was filled with confections, ranging from a dark, double chocolate fudge cake that Mrs. Sweeney had concocted, to the slightly questionable strawberry tarts created by Harry's own mother. The desserts on the table would be judged by Louis' mother at the end of the night and the winner would receive an assortment of cupcakes baked by Mrs. Sweeney, who would probably win anyway because her cake was by far the most superior. Still, it was for charity.

All in all, everybody had pitched in in an effort to make the theme of _Great British Bake Off_ as close to the real thing as possible. Still, Harry couldn't throw himself into the decorating as much as he wanted to. Ever since Darren had broken up with him, he could barely bring himself to muster a smile, let alone put any real effort in to an event like this. His mum had tried to tell him that he didn't need to go to the dance if he didn't feel up to it, but he needed the distraction. Besides, he'd been avoiding everybody since he got back from the gig in London and they were all starting to worry about him. Niall even told him that if he didn't show up to the dance, he would officially send out a search party to retrieve him from the depths of his room.

And then there was Louis...

God, Louis. Harry didn't even dare think about him. The other boy hadn't tried to reach him since the incident at _The Smoke and Dive_ and he was glad for it. He really didn't want to talk, especially if all Louis wanted to do was apologise for all the things that had happened between them. Things that had happened so long ago they barely even warranted a conversation anymore.

Still, Darren's words echoed in Harry's ears, telling him to sort it out before he ruined somebody else's life with his pining. He couldn't run forever, which is why that evening he'd pulled himself from his bed, determined to speak to Louis before he left for Africa. He'd expected to see the older boy helping when he'd arrived, but Louis had yet to show up. Liam and Niall had informed him that Louis was busy at home, sorting out last minute arrangements for his trip, which made sense considering he only had a few days before his flight departed. Harry's stomach dropped. He just wanted to get this over with, but now he'd have to keep one eye on the door all evening waiting for Louis to arrive.

When he finally finished hanging up all the fairy lights and banners across the room, Harry walked over to the table where a charity box was sitting with the words _Mission Africa_ written on it. He reached into his pocket and emptied the contents of his wallet into the bucket, which consisted of a twenty pound note and a loose penny. Beside the box, there was a card with a picture of a bronzed horse shoe and the words 'Good Luck' written on the front. Inside, all the members of church had signed the card with tiny messages of support for Louis. Harry picked up the pen perched beside it and pulled off the lid. He stood for a long moment, contemplating what to write, then proceeded to draw a small picture of a plectrum with a star in the middle. Underneath, he wrote _Good Luck._ He didn't bother to sign his name.

When he put the pen down and turned around, he saw Louis' step father staring at him from across the room. They made eye contact for a long moment and Harry noticed the small grimace that passed over the minister's face as they gazed at each other. It was only when a short woman with grey hair tapped the minister on the shoulder that Harry broke eye contact. A shiver passed down his spine as he stepped away from the table, joining Niall and Liam at the dessert stand.

As guests began to arrive, the hall slowly filled up until Harry could barely distinguish one person from another in the mass. Music sifted through the air, family friendly and nostalgic, the likes of Elvis and Connie Francis. Harry tried to imagine the dusty records sitting in the basement of one of the older members of the church, waiting for their moment to play again. Harry liked that type of music and he found himself growing distracted as he tapped his foot, shovelling two slices of pavlova and a jam tartlet into his mouth. As he licked the cream from his lips, he looked up and caught sight of the front door to the hall opening. His mouth fell open.

It was Louis. Louis, dressed in a black suit, clean-shaven with his hair slightly longer than usual, pushed back into a loose quiff. Harry watched as he passed through the hall, followed closely by Jay. Harry's eyes remained fixed to him as he stopped every few steps to politely converse with members of the church, smiling and talking animatedly, using his hands to gesture around the hall.

All of a sudden, Harry's eye line was disturbed by Niall as the blonde stood in front of him, clutching a plate of shortbread and holding one of the sugary biscuits to his lips.

“Harry, you've got to try these,” he said, mouth full, “they're the most amazing things. Melissa made them and I tell ya now, I'm going to marry that girl.”

“That good, huh?” Harry smiled, picking up a biscuit and biting into it, “very buttery.”

“I know, that's what I like about them,” Niall said, smiling blissfully, “you having a good time? I came over when I saw you standing by yourself. I thought maybe you might still be upset about,” he lowered his voice and leaned in, “Darren, y'know? Thought you might be a bit too much in your own head.”

Niall knew him too well. Harry just smiled,

“You're a good friend.”

“I know,” the blonde nodded solemnly, like it was a burden only he could bear, “I really am great.”

There was a burst of child's laughter from across the room, drawing their gazes to the other side of the hall. Louis was playing with Mrs. Sweeney's granddaughter. He was lifting her up and pushing her button nose, then taking his hand away every time she tried to catch it. When she clenched her chubby fists in exasperation, he pretended to imitate her by crossing his eyes and pulling a face. Her laughter was shrill and carefree, piercing through the soft hum of the music.

“I think you've been replaced, Haz,” Niall chuckled, “doesn't Charlotte usually only let you play with her?”

It was true, Harry normally had to pry Charlotte Sweeney from his arms by the end of the night. This night, however, she was so infatuated with Louis that Harry may as well not have existed. He watched as Louis set her down and walked her over to the sandwich table. She happily followed, blonde curls bouncing as she skipped behind him, giggling as he pretended to race her.

“That laugh is like a drill to my ears,” Niall said, shaking his head, “I'm not sure I ever want kids.”

Harry found that hard to believe, since Niall seemed like exactly the kind of person that kids would love.

“I want kids,” Harry replied, voice suddenly soft with emotion. He cleared his throat, “some day, I mean. Eventually.”

“Pft, I know. You're crazy about the little blights,” Niall said, busying himself with another biscuit, “I'm surprised you're not over there with them. Not that the wee girl would notice anyway, what with Louis working his magic on her.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes still fixed on them, “I know.”

It wasn't the Louis he knew, standing across the hall from him. The Louis he knew had been selfish and rash, a boy who lived on good intentions but rarely followed through. Underneath it all, Harry knew there was this side to him. A side with no walls in place to keep out the rest of the world, or to lock himself in. He used to dream about this Louis and now here he was standing in front of him, an impossible reality.

At that moment, another figure joined Louis at the sandwich table. It was Eleanor. She put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She was dressed in a modest, black silk dress with heels and a cardigan, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. Harry knew she was back for the Summer, briefly passing through before she went to America on a six month placement. As he watched them, he felt a swell of something hot and familiar in his chest, burning his throat. He remembered this feeling far too well. Recalled afternoons where he would sit and watch them from a distance, their hands draped over each other in casual affection, and his green eyes would deepen in colour. He was sick with envy.

Niall prattled on about something in his ear, having moved on from the topic of children, but Harry was in no mood to listen to him.

“Sorry,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Eleanor and Louis, “I have to get some air.”

Harry didn't wait for Niall to respond as he made his way towards the doors of the church hall. When he stepped outside into the night air he could feel a slight breeze caressing his skin through his thin, black shirt. He wrapped his arms around himself and began walking, listening to the hum of the music as it rang out from the church hall, growing fainter and fainter the further he walked. He eventually found himself walking through the woods behind the church, footsteps crunching on branches as he delved deeper and deeper until he reached the creek. The soft trickle of the water soothed his thoughts and he eventually sat down on a fallen tree trunk beside it.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard the break of a tree branch behind him in the woods. The sound alerted him to somebody's presence and he assumed it was Niall, coming to search for him after he'd left in such a hurry. He could feel the sensation of somebody behind him, watching. When he turned his head to glance at the intruder, Harry's eyes widened as he realised it wasn't Niall at all. There, half-hidden in the shadow of an oak, was Louis. The older boy looked equally as surprised to see Harry, eyes wide and glossy in the darkness. Harry's eyes travelled down the length of Louis' body, focusing on something thin and white slotted between his fingers. When Harry realised what it was, his lips parted with astonishment.

“I didn't know you smoked.”

Louis glanced down at the cigarette in his hand, then back up at Harry. A tense look passed over his features for a moment, before he simply shrugged and stepped forward, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and propping it between his lips as he fished a lighter from his pocket. He lit it up and inhaled deeply, smoke filtering out of his nose and mouth in wispy tendrils.

“From time-to-time,” he said, vaguely, “clears my head.”

Harry couldn't believe it. He'd assumed that Louis had turned good-living since leaving for university, so the fact that he was now smoking in front of him was quite a shocking sight. Harry had no doubt his parents would disapprove. Perhaps there was still a hint of the old Louis there after all.

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asked, finally.

Louis lifted up the cigarette and pointed to it with a sardonic smile, “Thought it was fairly obvious.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, which was half-amused and half-irritated. He was definitely not in the mood for Old Louis to start making an appearance. Especially one so unexpected. Harry had figured most of that rebellious boy he'd once knew had been erased over time.

“ _God_...” Harry sighed. He was so done with this.

Louis walked over, slow and cautious, and stood beside Harry's hunched figure.

“Mind if I join you?”

Harry did not dare risk a glance at him as he grunted out a non-committal response.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Louis said, sitting down with a loud exhale and puffing on his cigarette.

They said nothing as they stared out at the rippling waters of the creek.

“I hope you know that you're missing the cake judging,” Louis said suddenly, tone teasing, “my mother is pretending to be Mary Berry and you're _missing_ it.”

Harry turned around, barely able to take in the sight of Louis against the darkness of the trees. The evening sky provided barely enough illumination to see him. When Harry didn't reply, Louis tore his gaze away and stared at the ground. The proximity of their bodies made the skin on Harry's arms prickle, even though they were still a considerable distance apart. Louis brought the cigarette up to his mouth and as he did, Harry couldn't stop himself from muttering,

“That's going to kill you, you know.” When Harry glanced up, Louis froze. His cigarette was poised to, but not touching, his lips. “Smoking is a bad habit. When did you start that?”

“Some friends at university,” Louis replied, nonchalantly, “no big deal, really.”

“More like 'really big deal',” Harry frowned, “seriously, you should quit.”

“All right, _Mum_ ,” Louis reached down and squished the lit tip of his cigarette into the sodden earth, “there, happy? It's out.”

Harry shook his head, brow puckering in the middle. No, he wasn't happy at all. Louis remained sulky for a few more minutes, until finally Harry heard his whisper,

“I guess I should be glad I ran into you,” Louis traced his finger along the seam of his blazer, “I've been meaning to talk to you.”

Louis let the comment settle for a moment and Harry could feel his gaze burning into the side of his head. Harry sighed and pressed his face into his hands. He knew where this was going and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Louis asked quietly.

Harry pulled his face from his hands, looked up to the sky and breathed.

_This is it_ .

“Darren and I broke up.”

There was a pause. Harry could hear the music playing from the church hall.

“I heard,” Louis muttered, “Niall told me. Why?”

“We broke up because he saw me looking at you.”

Louis sighed, “Harry, about the gig...I'm sorry. I feel like...I kind of felt like it was my fault. I shouldn't have went, maybe.”

“It was my fault,” Harry said, “I was an idiot. I got caught up in...something.”

“Something?”

“Yes, something.”

“Something like what?”

Harry wasn't sure if the hitch in Louis' breath was real or a figment of his imagination.

“Louis...what _are_ we?” Harry groaned, sick of waiting. A spike of cold, hard determination chorused through his bones, giving him courage. If Louis was really leaving, if Harry was never going to see him again, then he had to know and he had to know _now_. “What _were_ we?”

Louis opened his mouth, but no words came out. Harry didn't give him enough time to think before continuing.

“You told me that I was your best friend. You said we were _friends_ , but we weren't friends!” Harry stood up, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I'm so sick of this bullshit! I have to know what you thought about me. What the fuck was going through your head all those years? What was I to you? I want the truth, not some excuse that we both know is bullshit!”

It was a question that had bothered Harry for as long as he could remember and he felt hopelessly exposed now that he'd spoken it aloud. Louis said he wanted to talk, so Harry would talk. He'd talk and talk until there were no words left to say between them and then he would let it all go.

“Was I just an _experiment_ to you?”

He wanted it to sound fierce, _violent_ , but instead it fell from his mouth like a sob.

Louis peered at him with wide eyes, then shifted his gaze to the water. When he spoke, his voice was calm

“Do you remember when we were in Bible studies together and Mrs. Sweeney took us down to this creek to teach us about all God's creatures? You kept trying to save this frog because you thought it would drown and even though Mrs. Sweeney kept telling you it was fine, you still tried to save it.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, unsure what this story had to do with anything. Louis continued,

“I remember feeling infuriated with you. I mean, it was just a stupid frog, why did you want to save it so badly? I thought about it all day. Drove myself nuts thinking about you and that stupid frog. It was the same feeling I got when we used to play Scrabble together in my room. I'd look at you biting your lip, trying to think of all these confusing words to make me look stupid, then you'd break out into this huge grin when you finally thought of one. I used to dream about throttling you.”

Harry's breath puffed from his nose and mouth in sharp bursts. He wanted to ask what this story had to do with anything, but he was dumbstruck as Louis continued to talk.

“Then this one day we were playing Scrabble and I looked over at you biting your lip, and instead of thinking about throttling you I thought about kissing you. The thought just flitted through my mind before I even had time to process it. Then that was it. From that moment on, every time you did something that used to make me think about throttling you, I thought about kissing you. That's when I wanted to throttle myself,” Louis' voice lowered, “You weren't an experiment. I always wanted you. Even as young as I was, I still wanted you.”

“Then why did it never feel that way?” Harry asked.

“Because I was _scared_ , OK?” Louis said, pressing his head into his hands, “I was so scared and stupid. I thought if I kept you at arm's length then maybe I could...I don't even know. I thought maybe I could just pretend it wasn't happening.”

“And what about Eleanor?” Harry asked, still thinking about them standing in the church hall together, laughing. He felt a swell of residual anger burning within him, “Was she just a way to cover it all up?”

“Eleanor was...” Louis paused, as if thinking carefully about his words, “she was the type of girl I _wanted_ to want. All the guys liked her and I thought I should like her too. There's only so long a thirteen-year-old boy can cope with being called Louis-limp-wrist before he has to take drastic action, Harold.”

Harry frowned. “Who called you that?”

“The guys on the football team, mainly,” Louis shrugged, “I just thought that maybe if I got the girl they all wanted, they would treat me like I was one of them. A 'real' guy.”

“And did they?” Harry asked.

“It worked surprisingly well, actually,” Louis said, “of course I had to do a few other things. Just tweak my behaviour a bit, y'know? No more Louis-limp-wrist.”

Harry recalled Louis when he was fifteen, jogging across the football field with his wrist perked into a slope as he kicked the ball. He remembered the look of joy on his face as the ball went into the net, only to be quickly suppressed into a smirk. When Louis had looked down at his wrist, still sloped, he pretended there was a creak in it as he bent the joint back and forth. Harry had barely noticed the action at the time, but right now it was the only thing he could think about.

“None of that mattered to me,” Harry said, quietly.

“I know it didn't, I just...Harry, I hated myself. I didn't want to be that way, so I took it out on you,” Louis said, brows furrowed with anger at himself, “I thought if I went to Edinburgh and stayed with Eleanor and just _followed the plan_ everything would work out.”

Harry thought about Louis leaving for Africa in a week. Suddenly, all the fight drained from him.

“I guess your were right. You've graduated and now you're going to Africa to help these people and you can forget all this,” Harry gestured between them, “whatever it is.”

Harry could feel Louis' eyes burning into him through the darkness. He turned and sat back down on the stump beside him. By this point, Louis had pulled another cigarette from his pocket and was puffing on it like it was oxygen.

“What if I said that's not what I wanted?”

Harry's neck snapped around so quickly he felt disoriented as he met Louis' stare.

“What would you say....” Louis breathed shakily, “if I told you that was never what I wanted?”

“I-is it?”

Louis smiled sadly and gave a little half-shrug. Harry's eyes glazed over as he allowed himself to wonder what lay behind that tiny smile. A tug of longing pulled somewhere deep inside him, a dull ache that plumed up from the recesses of his memory like a dark spectre that never truly disappeared. No. _No_. Harry would absolutely _not_ go through this again.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Harry asked, voice too feeble to sound even mildly accusatory.

“I'm trying to be honest,” Louis said, “like you wanted me to be.”

“Too little too late,” Harry muttered, darkly, “that's probably what I'd say.

Louis' lips parted. “Oh...Okay.”

Harry was so confused. This wasn't what he'd expected at all and his brain was having trouble processing it. He'd thought Louis would apologise for screwing him around for years, cleansing himself of old sins before he embarked on his new life, yet here he was, doing the exact opposite. Louis slowly stood to his feet, taking Harry's silence as a queue for him to leave.

“I guess I'll just...”

As Louis took a few tentative steps through the brush, Harry let out a low growl in his throat and quickly stood to his feet.

“Oh _screw you,_ Louis! How am I supposed to forget you said that now?” Harry's head felt like it was going to burst. “God damn it! Why did you not say anything before this? After you went to Edinburgh I never heard from you.”

Louis stood across from Harry in the clearing, attention fully focused on him. To Harry, it almost felt like the first time Louis was actually seeing him.

“What was I supposed to say?” Louis asked, helplessly. “I wasn't even sure if you wanted to talk to me. You never even came to say goodbye when I left.”

“Can you _blame_ me?”

“No, I can't, but I didn't know what to do! I was _scared_ , OK? I wanted to talk to you but I didn't know how. I thought about messaging you every day, Harry! You have no idea how close I came.”

But Harry never received any messages from Louis.

“Then why didn't you?” He asked.

“I was going to one night. I was sitting in front of my laptop for an hour on your Facebook page, just trying to think about what to say,” he said, and Harry knew what was coming before the words left his mouth, “then I saw you'd changed your relationship status and I just...decided I'd probably messed you around enough for one lifetime, y'know?”

Harry's stomach dropped.

Louis stepped closer to Harry, as if determined to make him hear every single word. The skin on Harry's face was flushed and warm, even in the cool night air. A million questions raced in his mind, yet he couldn't think of a single one. He blamed his shaky breaths on the cold. Louis' eyes shifted to meet Harry's gaze and slowly, uncertainly, he lifted one hand up towards Harry's face. Harry tracked the motion with his eyes, heart giving a sharp thump of warning as he feebly fought against Louis' advances. He tried to bat Louis' hand away, pulling back, but Louis reached out and circled his long fingers around his wrist in mid-air. Harry stiffened under the touch. Tentatively, Louis reached up with his free hand and softly stroked the back of his fingers along Harry's cheek. With a shaky exhale, all the fight left Harry's body.

“ _Harry..._ ” Louis whispered, reverently.

Harry leaned into the touch, letting Louis' hand brush his skin. Louis curved his hand around to cup Harry's cheek, brushing the bone with his thumb. He was trembling.

“How can I believe you this time?” Harry asked, eyes searching Louis'. “What's changed?”

“I have.”

They stared at each other for the longest moment, wind whistling gently through the branches of the trees. Then, slowly, cautiously, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to press a light kiss to the heel of Louis' palm.

The crack of a branch made them both jump and turn to face the darkness behind them. A pair of eyes glowed in the darkness, before disappearing completely. It was a fox. Harry could hear a burst of raucous laughter coming from the church. It was closer than he first thought.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded.

They decided to go back to Louis' house, since his mother and his stepfather would be at the church hall entertaining guests all night. When they walked in through the front door, Harry briefly wondered whether or not Louis' parents would mind that he'd left his own party. Louis didn't seem to care what they thought. It made Harry want him more.

When he stepped into Louis' room, Harry felt like he'd walked straight into the past. He hadn't been there in years, but it looked exactly the same. The only thing different was the man standing in the middle of it, looking at Harry like he didn't have a clue what to do.

“I never thought I'd be back here,” Harry said, trailing his hands along the trinkets on Louis' shelves, pulling out a copy of Gatsby from the book case.

“Dream come true?”

“For you, maybe.”

Louis let out a laugh, eyebrows lifting like he couldn't contain the joy this comment brought him.

“You've changed, Styles,” he said, “where is the little _nerdy_ boy whose only joy was trying to beat me at Scrabble? Key word being _try_.”

“He's gone,” Harry said, lowering himself to the ground to search under the bed for the familiar game, “and I bet I could beat you now.”

“Pft, unlikely,” Louis scoffed, “I'm a university graduate, my vocabulary is extensive and superior to yours.”

Harry pulled out the dusty game, which looked basic compared to the newest editions that he'd played since.

“I think you've met your match.”

Louis smirked, “I think I have.”

A shiver ran down Harry's spine.

He sat down on the floor and crossed his legs, setting up the board. Louis sat opposite him, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the top of his crisp, white shirt. It reminded Harry of the way he was in school; blazer cast aside, dishevelled and effortlessly attractive.

“You go first,” Harry said.

Louis peered at the letters in his case, then quickly picked up the select, white pegs and set them out on the board.

“ _Words_ , really?” Harry said.

“It's the start of the game, I need to warm up!” Louis said, defending his choice, “besides, it's over a double score.”

Shit.

A deep line settled in Harry's brow as he mulled over his choices. Finally, he settled on the word _Solid._

As the game progressed, they remained on equal footing, neither one of them taking the lead for any significant amount of time. At one point Harry shifted his position to lie on the floor, chin propped on his hand as he rested his weight on his elbow. Louis was sprawled onto his side, head resting on one elbow, leaving his free hand to select letters. It was Harry's turn and he bit his lip between his teeth, worrying the skin. Louis was in the lead and he needed a really good word to match him. Harry could feel Louis' eyes on him, and when he looked up the other boy was grinning.

“What?” Harry asked, annoyed by the distraction.

“You're biting your lip.”

“You're not going to distract me,” he mumbled, unable to help the slight smile that graced his lips, “it's not going to work.”

“I beg to differ.”

Harry shook his head and finally settled on the word _Tease._ It wasn't the best word he could have chosen, but he couldn't resist seeing the look on Louis' face as he peered at the board. A flicker of something passed through Louis' eyes as he glanced over at Harry, but he said nothing. Without a second of hesitation, Louis leaned forward and set his word out. He used the first 'E' of 'tease' and set an 'M' in front of it.

_Tease Me_ .

Harry raised an eyebrow, but Louis' eyes were steady on the board, as if the game hadn't just taken an explicit turn. Well, if that's how he wanted to play it. Harry scanned over his letters with the new theme in mind. He used an 'e' and an 'a' to create the word _Heat._

Without breaking a sweat, Louis eyed the letters and put his own down on the board. _Lust._

Louis was losing now. Then again, the concept of winning seemed to have changed drastically. From the shallowness of Harry's breaths, he wondered if _he_ was the one losing. He licked his lips and shifted on the floor, suddenly aware of the heat pooling near his hips. His eyes landed on the 'x' that he'd been wanting to use since the start of the game, could think of the perfect word to rattle Louis, but he couldn't bring himself to use it. He decided to break the theme and instead opted for the word _Spirit._

A frown passed over Louis' face, as if he wasn't quite sure what had just happened. He peered up at Harry, but was met with a look of pure concentration, so he simply shook his head and reached forward to put down a regular word. For about ten minutes, their game went back to being about who could pick the best words, rather than who could unnerve the other more. At one point Louis took umbrage to a word Harry had chosen, insisting it wasn't real. He stood to his feet to get a dictionary and searched through the pages. Harry watched as the older boy popped his hip and traced a finger along each line, wrist beautifully limp.

“See,” Louis said, turning the book around, “it's not even there!”

Sure enough, 'Binky' was not an allowable word.

“I can change it, if you want?” Harry said, eyes drifting over the curves of Louis' body as the older boy stood.

“Fine, but it really shouldn't be allowed you know, I'm not happy about this,” Louis said, always the dramatist. He settled back down on the ground, “go ahead, change it.”

Harry smirked and took the 'B' from 'Binky', replacing it with a 'K'. Louis' face dropped.

“Is _that_ word allowed?” Harry asked, all wide eyes and faux innocence.

Louis cleared his throat, “Yes.”

With that, their game once again delved into the obscene. Louis played the word _Straddle_ , which Harry then countered with _Dildo_ (they both couldn't help but snigger like children at that one). This continued for a while, with each of them trying to unnerve the other in any way they could, even when the words were simple and tactless. Of course, sometimes they would have to resort to tame words as their letters wouldn't cater for anything more graphic. This meant they would weave in and out of appropriateness whenever the game allowed for it, making it difficult for either of them to suspect when the other one would strike. The game had become a medium for something between them they couldn't find the courage to express yet. When it was Louis' turn again, Harry noticed the other boy's cheeks had turned red.

_Want_ , Louis carefully placed on the board.

Harry stared at the letters, then spelled out the word that he'd already selected beforehand. _Heart._ He cast his eyes over to Louis, eager to see his response. Louis examined the board with a critical eye, then reached over and began picking more letters from the bag, searching for the ones he wanted.

“That's cheating,” Harry said.

Louis ignored him as he scanned each brick. Finally, he began placing them on the board.

_Always_ , it spelt.

They both peered at each other over the messy board, letters lying in scrambled heaps around them. If Harry listened hard enough, he could almost hear their heartbeats filling the silence. When he looked at Louis, he could see the ripple of his throat as he swallowed. Harry wasn't used to seeing Louis so undone. He liked it.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Louis moved forward cautiously, brushing the board out of the way with his hands.

Harry could see the rapid rise and fall of Louis' chest. He reached out with both hands and placed them on Louis' neck, feeling the fluttering pulse beneath his fingers. When he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Louis', it felt like the first time all over again. Two petals crushing against his lips, only this time it was accompanied by the brush of stubble, then the wet heat of Louis' tongue as their mouths slipped open to accommodate one another. Harry moaned into it and the sound was primal to his ears. He felt Louis' hands in his hair, brushing the strands back. When they finally broke apart, Harry took Louis' hand in his and pulled him to his feet, urging him towards the bed.

The springs creaked below them as their bodies hit the mattress. Harry pushed Louis down and began teasing him by pressing chaste, close-mouthed kisses to his lips, before slowly coaxing the older boy's mouth open with his tongue. Louis moaned against it, body writhing against him, until Harry was so overcome with desire that he threw one leg over Louis' torso and straddled him. He looked down at Louis' face, all chiselled cheekbones and soft lashes, and wondered if this was really happening. When Louis' face broke out into a wide grin, he knew it was.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Harry replied, a low growl in his throat.

He leaned down and nuzzled his face into Louis' neck, licking the skin. It tasted like salt and _Jean Paul Gaultier_ cologne. He kissed a line from Louis' jaw to his mouth, then pressed their lips together. He felt Louis' hands on his waist, fingers digging into the skin where his shirt had ridden up. God, it had been so long, he never thought he could have this again. Harry could feel Louis' hands shifting from their position on his waist, moving slowly upwards, bunching the material of Harry's shirt higher up on his torso. Harry looked at Louis with dark eyes, then slowly reached down and peeled the fabric of his own t-shirt from his body.

As soon as Harry's chest was exposed, Louis slowly reached out and trailed his hands along the skin. The contact was soft and cautious, exploring every inch of his lean torso with curious fingers. It was the first time Louis had touched Harry with his shirt off. The sensation alone was almost enough to break Harry before they'd even done anything. Louis' fingers traced the edges of his abs, then moved up towards the line of his sternum.

Harry's breaths hitched in his chest as Louis's thumb hesitated just above his nipple, before lightly grazing it with the pad. He hissed out a breath, frenzied with the lightness of the touch. It wasn't enough, he had to have more. At that moment Harry grabbed Louis' hands in his and planted them on his chest, solid and firm against his skin, then bent down to take Louis' mouth in his. This time, the kiss was urgent.

Their lips slid together, hands exploring every inch of each other. Harry let his fingers come up to undo the buttons of Louis' shirt. When he reached the last one, he slid the material back over Louis' shoulders, kissing the bared skin as Louis pulled the shirt from his arms and threw it to the floor. Their lips locked once again, Harry's body still dominating Louis' as he straddled the older boy's thighs. He pulled away and rolled his hips, right where the crotch of their trousers collided. Louis gasped,

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, “who _are_ you?”

Harry grinned. Louis wasn't the only one who'd changed since the last time they'd been together. He wasn't the shy boy he'd been before, he knew what he wanted and he was prepared to take it.

He leaned down and gently sank his teeth into Louis' bottom lip, causing the other boy to let out a low groan. When he pulled away, he could see the wonder in Louis' eyes. Harry kept his attention on Louis' face, tracing the curves and edges of his cheeks and lips, then slowly repeated the action of rolling his hips against Louis'. It was a deep drag of his pelvis, their cocks caressing through the fabric of their trousers. Louis' mouth dropped open as his brow puckered and Harry watched in silence, neither of them saying a word.

Harry reached down and let his fingers hover above the button of Louis' trousers. As his fingers began to pull down the zip, Harry saw a slow ripple of apprehension work down Louis' throat. He immediately stopped.

“Is this OK?” Harry asked.

Louis said nothing for a moment, then whispered,

“I do want to.”

Harry kept his eyes locked on Louis' expression, and Louis didn't have to say anymore words for Harry to hear the unspoken ' _I'm not ready yet_ '.

Harry dismounted from his position on Louis' lap to curl down beside him, pulling the smaller body into him and wrapping his arms around the slender frame. He pressed his lips into Louis' hair, then continued to plant kisses over his face and along his jawline. He wanted to own every part of him until there was nothing left for anyone else. Louis laughed,

“All right, Curly, I'm not Melissa's shortbread.”

“Good enough to eat though!”

Harry smiled widely, proud of his own joke.

“You're such a dork.”

Even as Louis said the words, he had to hide his face in the pillow to stop his smile from betraying him.

“I think you like it,” Harry said, poking him in the stomach.

“I think I like you.”

Harry gazed into Louis' eyes, examining the deep blue, taking note of the tiny inflections that he'd never noticed before. Seeing the other boy so open and unguarded, so _okay_ with being with him, felt like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought about Darren. The feeling that enveloped Harry when Louis said something as simple as _I think I like you_ made Harry wonder how he ever thought it could be the same with someone else. It would never be like this.

Maybe Harry was making a huge mistake, but somewhere deep inside him he knew that even if he and Louis were destined to crash and burn, he would never be able to walk away. He would make these same mistakes with Louis for the rest of his life, for as long as it took for the other boy to want him back, he would do it. If that made him a fool or a glutton for pain, then so be it.

“What are we going to do now?” Harry whispered.

He could feel Louis' body shift against him, moving closer into the nook of his arms.

“I don't know.”

“You're going to Africa in a few days.”

Louis was silent.

Harry was about to open his mouth to ask another question, but before he could he felt lips on his neck, hot and wet on the flickering pulse. He could feel Louis' hand on his stomach, then the brush of his finger as he traced a lazy pattern into the skin. It was a word. Harry could make out the lines of an 'A' and the curve of a 'S'.

_Always_ .

-*-

Harry's eyes peeled open.

It took him a moment to place where he was as he scanned the room, mildly disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Images flickered in his mind, the memory of Louis' mouth against his, and suddenly he remembered. Louis' room. He was in Louis' room.

He turned over to throw his arm around the boy lying next to him, but the space was empty. His heart began to beat in his chest as he quickly sat up, searching the room for any sign of Louis' presence. The thought that the other boy might have fled while he slept made a jolt of panic surge through his bones. However, when Harry peered around the room, he noticed Louis' blazer and shirt were still on the floor. He let out a long, slow breath.

_Calm down_ .

The sound of music perked his ears and he slowly removed himself from the bed, walking towards the lilting melody. It became louder as he walked downstairs, floorboards creaking beneath his feet. When he walked into the living room, he noticed Louis sitting at the piano, leaning into the music as his fingers danced over the keys. The song was sweet and beautiful, a far cry from the sombre pieces Harry would often hear him play during his practices as a child. This music was happy. Blissfully happy.

It took a moment for Louis to realise Harry was in the room. He turned his head and continued to play whilst Harry looked on from the corner of the room, only stepping forward when he was sure the movement wouldn't cause Louis to stop. He took a seat beside the older boy, pressing their bare sides together and listened. He'd never heard the song before. When it teetered to a finish, Louis turned his head and smiled softly.

“I thought you'd given up,” Harry said, gesturing towards the piano.

“Nope. I bought a keyboard when I was at university and practised every night. I could never give it up.”

“What were you playing?”

Louis shrugged, “just something I've been working on for a while.”

Harry's eyes widened, “you made that up?”

“I made it up.”

“It sounds amazing,” Harry said, though the words didn't do it justice.

“Maybe I'll let you and Niall use it for a song,” a sly smile worked it's way over Louis' features, “I'll expect royalties though.”

“Or you could play with us,” Harry said, completely serious.

In the past, Louis would have shrugged off the suggestion as an impossibility. This time, when Harry's eyes met his, Louis simply smiled.

“Maybe.”

The answer made Harry smile so wide he could feel the dimples cratering his cheeks. Louis laughed and leaned forward to press his lips to Harry's, their teeth banging together in their haste to be as close as possible. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis, fingers digging into the flesh of his bare back, and he let himself be pulled closer by Louis' coaxing hands until he was sitting in the other boy's lap. Louis lifted his hands to card them through Harry's hair, smiling when Harry turned his attention to the bones of his wrists.

“I love your limp wrists,” Harry said, smiling, words muffled by skin, “they're so sexy.”

Louis threw his head back and laughed.

Harry wanted to take every painful memory Louis had and make it good. He kissed each part of his hand, before slowly making his way back up his arm toward his neck. Their mouths met again, hot and wet and urgent. Harry could do this all night. Planned to, in fact, as soon as he could get Louis away from this piano and back into bed.

Harry felt Louis' body freeze against him. It took a moment for him to process the lack of reaction as he continued to press kisses to Louis' skin. When he finally looked up to see what the problem was, he noticed Louis' eyes fixed to the door behind him. When he turned his gaze in the same direction, his body froze.

Louis' stepfather was standing in the doorway, staring at them. Harry hadn't even heard the Reverend come in and, from the look on Louis' face, neither had he. Harry suddenly became aware of how they must look in that moment; him sitting on Louis' lap, bared torsos melded together until their two bodies looked like one. Where their chests touched, Harry could feel Louis' heart pounding beneath his rib cage.

The silence around them seemed to stretch on for hours, until finally Louis stepfather broke it,

“Get out.”

Harry could barely process the words as he stared back, dumbly.

“I said get out!”

With that, Harry felt Louis' hands pushing against him, urging him to leave.

“Go,” Louis said.

Harry turned to Louis with wide eyes. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay and face whatever was coming by Louis' side, no matter what. However, when Louis began pushing at him, forcing him from his lap, Harry had no choice but to get up and bolt from the room. He ran up to Louis' bedroom and grabbed his shirt from the floor before making a hasty exit from the house.

When Harry's back hit the wooden, chipped paint of the front door, he could hear the raised voices of Louis and his step father's within the walls of the house.

“So _this_ is what you were doing while you were missing your own leaving party?” Reverend Tomlinson asked.

“I didn't know you'd be back...” Louis replied.

He sounded like a small boy. Harry had to fight the urge to burst back into the house and stand with him, but he forced himself not to. Louis had asked him to go. Something about that made his stomach drop.

“Your mother asked me to come find you! I should've known you'd be with that Styles boy. I always knew, I just knew it! How long has this been going on?”

“It's none of your business!”

“I could see it when you were young, I should've sent you to Christ College. This never would've happened if you'd went to boarding school like I wanted.”

“I went to Edinburgh like _you_ wanted! I'm becoming a minister like _you_ wanted!”

“And now you've ruined all that by indulging in this...this...I can't even say it!”

“I can't change!”

“There are ways of dealing with this, Louis. There are places you can-”

Harry couldn't listen anymore. He ran down the gravel driveway and out into the street, heading for home.

 

-*-


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Apologies for the belated update, time just seemed to run away from me. Once again, thank you so much for all the comments and kudos for the previous chapter. I really appreciate it. As you know, we're one chapter away from the end and I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with this up to now. It hasn't been an easy journey, but the end is in sight.

-*-

The sun shone through the window of Niall's kitchen, casting light onto the table where Harry sat with a cup of tea in his hands. The ceramic of the mug burned his skin, but he made no attempt to withdraw his fingers. Niall sat opposite him, staring with patient blue eyes, not even attempting to pry an explanation from Harry as to why he'd texted him at silly o'clock in the morning wanting to talk.

The smell of toast wafted through the air from where it sat untouched on the table, making Harry's stomach churn. He couldn't even be bothered eating. All he could think about was Louis. Two days had passed since the night of the church dance and he hadn't heard from the older boy since, despite numerous unanswered texts and countless voicemail messages. He could stand it no longer. He needed to talk to someone, which is how he found himself in Niall's kitchen, ready to spill his guts about everything that had happened between he and Louis up until that point.

“Does this early morning visit have something to do with you and Louis?” Niall asked, as if reading his thoughts.

Harry sighed in response, running his fingers through the tumble of curls on his head.

“I don't even know where to begin, if I'm honest,” he said.

Niall shifted on his seat and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

“You could start by telling me why you freaked out at the gig.”

Harry looked up at Niall. He opened his mouth to speak, but the other boy kept talking,

“What's going on here, Harry? With you and Louis? I've held my tongue for long enough about this. I always thought it was weird that you never wanted to come with me to Edinburgh to visit him. Then, when he came back, you were being so weird! And y'know what? So was he. So what's going on? Did you guys have a fight or something?” Niall finished, shaking his head like he'd examined everything from all possible angles and could draw no logical conclusion.

“No, not a fight. Well, not just that, anyway. It's...complicated.”

“Well then what?” Niall asked, “I don't get what could possibly be so complicated! Not only that, but what does _Louis_ have to do with you and Darren? Why did he freak out at the gig? What's his problem with everything? It's just a shame because you and Louis were always so close and then out of nowhere you just seemed to...” suddenly, as though a switch had just been flipped inside his head, Niall's expression dropped with realisation. “Wait, do you _like_ him?”

Harry said nothing, opting to look at his hands instead. Niall sat back, nodding, as if the silence spoke volumes,

“So that's it then? You like Louis.” Niall declared, “And Darren found out and broke it off, that's why you bolted after the gig. Well, Haz, maybe you should just tell Louis? I mean, it might be best to just get it out of your system and then you can-”

“Louis knows,” Harry interrupted, sharply.

“What?”

“Louis knows.”

Niall opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for words.

“Oh...right, well...what? Louis knows you like him? When did you tell him?”

“Louis and I...” Harry folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them, “I don't know how to say it.”

“I don't get it though. If Louis knows how you feel about him and is OK with it, then what's the problem? Is that why you guys left the dance so early?”

Niall's expression was that of a man caught in a particularly difficult game of Sudoku.

“Niall...it's not one-sided,” Harry said, hoping this would be enough for the blonde to catch on.

“What's not one-sided? What do you mean?”

“My feelings for Louis. They're not one-sided.”

Niall's eyes scanned Harry's face, eyebrows lowered in confusion, until suddenly the fog cleared and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, voice low.

“Oh. _Fuck._ ”

Niall sat back in his chair and covered his face with his palms, dragging his fingers down, as if his mind had just been blown by this information. He shook his head.

“You mean Louis feels the same way about you?”

“I think so,” Harry said, fumbling with the sleeve of his hoody, “I mean, yes. Yes, he does. We both do.”

Harry could tell by the mistiness of Niall's eyes that he was thinking back on all the times he should've known something was going on, but didn't.

“So...you and Louis...that's a thing? I mean, when did it start? Shit, I can't believe this. Are you _sure_?”

Despite the nature of the conversation, Harry couldn't help but grin at the stupidity of the question.

“Yes Niall, I'm sure,” he said, “it started when I was eleven, then carried on up until I turned sixteen.”

“ _That long_?” Niall cried, “What about Eleanor? Louis was with Eleanor that whole time!”

“Don't remind me,” Harry muttered.

Niall stood up from the table, unable to contain himself. He paced back and forth on the kitchen floor, slippered feet padding along the tiles.

“Who else knows about this?” Niall asked, eyes wide, “Does Liam know? Does _Zayn_ know? Zayn must know, he's known Louis his whole life.”

“It's not exactly something Louis used to shout from the rooftops, Niall,” Harry said.

“I suppose his step dad wouldn't be too happy about it.”

“Like father like son, I suppose.”

Harry hated himself for saying the words. Louis was nothing like his step dad, he knew that, but the fact that Louis hadn't even contacted him in the days since they were last together made Harry wonder if he had been scared back into the closet. After all, Louis would only have to ignore Harry for a few more days until his plane took off for Africa, then he'd never have to deal with him again.

“Are you guys together then?” Niall asked, still visibly shaken up by this new discovery.“Is that why you and Darren broke up?”

“I don't even know. On Saturday night we went back to Louis' house and we were kind of...his step dad walked in on us while we were, sort of, in a predicament.”

Niall's eyes shot open, “What, like...doing the deed?”

“No! No, Jesus, we were just kissing, but obviously it still wasn't good,” Harry frowned, “Louis' dad was yelling at me to get out and I wanted to stay, but....”

“Did Louis want you to stay?”

“No. I haven't heard from him since.”

“Shit,” Niall swiped a hand over his face and walked back to his chair, sitting down to face Harry, “have you tried calling him?”

“I've tried everything,” Harry shrugged, “he's just not responding. Have you been speaking to him?”

“No,” Niall pursed his lips, “I don't think anyone has. We just assumed he was busy getting ready to leave. Is he still going to Africa then?”

“I don't know.”

“You should go to his house or something.”

Harry couldn't think of anything worse than standing on Louis' doorstep, asking if he could speak to him.

“I can't go back there,” Harry muttered, “you have no idea how... _disgusted_ his dad looked, Niall.”

“Fuck him!” Niall said, “If you and Louis care about each other, well, that's pretty damn special. I still can't fucking _believe_ it though! I mean...could you just explain all this from the start? How did all this start?”

And so Harry told him about how Louis had picked him up from the ground after being punched by Kurt Michaels. He told him about how he'd kept his mouth shut for years while Louis continued his relationship with Eleanor and the pain he felt when they eventually grew apart. Right up until their conversation on Saturday night, when Louis told Harry that he'd changed and things would be different from now on. Harry desperately wanted to believe they would be.

“I just don't know what to do, Niall.”

Harry laced his fingers back through his hair, bunching the strands into his fists.

“Haz, you need to talk to him,” Niall said, softly, “what you guys have, it's worth saving.”

“I know, but he won't return my calls, I've tried everything.”

“Well then, I guess you just have to trust him,” Niall said.

Harry's stomach flipped at the thought.

“That's the problem.”

Harry stayed at Niall's house for the rest of the day, stealing food from his fridge and playing Mario Kart on his Playstation, all while Niall valiantly attempted to keep his spirits up by insisting that Louis would eventually reply to at least one of the thousand messages. When Harry eventually peered through the window and noticed the dark blue sky that had suddenly descended, he felt his stomach twist. He dropped the Playstation controller from his hand and pulled his phone from his pocket.

No missed calls.

Wordlessly, he put his phone back into his pocket and continued to play Mario Kart, thumbs pounding on the keys. He could feel Niall's eyes on him from across the room, where he sat on a leather armchair with his laptop on his knees, and for once Harry actually longed to hear some words of encouragement. Nothing.

Ten minutes passed before Harry heard a sharp gasp from across the room.

“Harry!” Niall said, hopping off his chair with the laptop clutched in his hands, “Look! Look!”

“What?”

Harry watched as Niall frantically crossed the room to sit beside him on the couch. Niall pulled the controller from Harry's hands and paused the game he was in the middle of winning.

“Read that!” Niall said, giddy with excitement, pushing the laptop on to Harry's knee, “Read that fuckin' e-mail!”

Harry turned his gaze towards the e-mail on the screen. The e-mail address was familiar, but he couldn't remember why. As his eyes took in the words, his mouth dropped open.

“Is this...” Harry trailed off, unable to believe his own eyes.

“It's the fucking talent scout, Harry!” Niall cried, “He wants us to meet with us! We're going to a meeting! They're interested in signing us!”

“No,” Harry said, mouth stretching into a smile, “No no no!”

“Yes!”

Harry suddenly felt choked with emotion. He turned to Niall, whose face had turned strawberry red, and immediately they reached out and pulled each other into a tight bear hug.

“This is it,” Niall said, voice muffled from where his mouth was pressed against Harry's shirt, “I _told_ you we'd be famous!”

“You did,” Harry said, allowing himself to be carried away for once, “I can't believe this is happening.”

“It's happening.”

They pulled away. Harry immediately grabbed the laptop and began scanning through the e-mail for more detail, examining every single line to make sure they hadn't misread anything. The document was short and concise, but it definitely expressed interest. The talent scout wanted to meet with them as soon as next week to introduce them to some people in 'the industry', and would be calling soon to iron out the details. However, as he got to the bottom of the e-mail, he noticed something he hadn't seen on the first read.

“They're interested in sending us on a tour,” Harry said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What!” Niall said, grabbing the laptop. He obviously hadn't read past the first few lines either, “No. Fucking. Way!”

A mini tour, to be precise. They'd be opening for an up-and-coming band called _Smooth Talent_ who already had a sizeable following in the UK.

“I've heard of these guys,” Harry said, staring at the screen over Niall's shoulder, “my sister listens to them all the time.”

“Just wait until she hears that you're opening for them!” Niall beamed, “All the ass-kissing we're going to get from the people who said we were shit! Fuck you, Kurt Michaels.”

Harry laughed in delight. He moved his hand towards the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, then paused when he realised that the person he most wanted to tell this news to probably wouldn't even answer. As quick as it came, his excitement vanished.

Niall, sensing this, pressed his hand onto Harry's shoulder and squeezed.

“It'll all work out, Haz,” Niall said.

It lacked the sincerity of his previous reassurances, as if he wasn't quite sure whether it would work out anymore.

“I hope so.”

Harry pulled out his phone and made a last ditch attempt to persuade Louis to contact him. After a few moments, he traced his thumbs across the glowing letters on the screen, then hit send.

_Always... Please call me._

-*-

When Harry finally left Niall's house, he decided to take the scenic route home.

He walked down towards the park, then along the winding streets that took him past the familiar gates of Halls Cross High School and finally past Sandys pub. As he walked, he thought about the choices he had yet to make in his life.

It wouldn't be long before he received the marks for his A-levels. The results would be out within the week and after that he'd be confronted with all sorts of questions about his future. He always thought he would go to Bristol University to study Law, but now he was presented with the opportunity to be a signed artist; part of a _real_ band that would make _real_ music and go on a _real_ tour! Granted, it was just a small gig and the future was still uncertain, but it was something. It had the potential to be everything he ever wanted. Still, he couldn't shake the feelings of uncertainty from his head. If this opportunity had presented itself a year ago, there was no doubting what his decision would've been, but things had changed so drastically in his life in such a short space of time. The thought of being with Louis for real made him question everything, yet even the future of their relationship was still an unsure bet. Harry didn't know where to place his gamble.

When he finally made his way home, he entered through the front door and into the kitchen, where he was immediately greeted by his mother. Anne was holding a cup of tea to her lips whilst sitting on the phone, her expression light and amused. She wiggled her fingers in greeting to Harry, who made his way to the fridge and began making himself a cheese and ham sandwich. Eating away his problems seemed like a good solution at this point.

Suddenly, Harry heard his mum's voice from across the room, trying to get his attention. He turned and looked at her with wide, green eyes. She pressed a hand to the mouthpiece of her phone to block the sound, then proceeded to silently mouth something to him. Harry wondered why she bothered to cover the mouthpiece if she only intended to speak soundless words.

“What?” He whispered, frowning, “I can't hear you.”

She rolled her eyes and raised a finger to the ceiling, “You have a visitor. In your room.”

Harry's heart gave out a single beat.

Without any further questions, he immediately dropped the knife onto the bread he was in the middle of buttering and ran upstairs to his room. As soon as he entered, his eyes caught sight of Louis sitting on the bed, legs sprawled out on the sheets as he sat with his back to the headrest. Louis immediately stood up when Harry entered the room, brushing imaginary dust from the white torso of his baseball shirt. He looked so small as he peered up at Harry, his hair fluffy and unkempt, like he hadn't brushed it in days. A soft smile slid over his face.

“Hey,” Louis said, “miss me?”

A weight felt like it had been lifted from Harry's shoulders as he quickly crossed the distance between them. Neither of them spoke as they stood in the middle of the room, holding each other. It was only now as Harry stood with Louis in his arms that a wash of terror flooded through him. He'd managed to maintain a numb detachment over the past few days, never allowing himself to dwell too long on the possibility that he may have lost Louis once again, and now he was having a delayed reaction to the stress of it all. Harry's heart thundered in his chest and his breaths hitched in his throat, making his eyes water as he squeezed Louis' body tightly to him.

“Where have you _been_?” Harry asked, “I've been trying to reach you for days.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” Louis said, brushing the curls from Harry's eyes, “it's just been so crazy, I needed some time.”

“You can't do that to me ever again. I didn't know what to think,” Harry whispered, resting his head on Louis' shoulder, “You can't shut me out like that, Lou, it kills me.”

When Harry pulled back, Louis was looking up at him with parted lips and wide eyes, as though surprised by this reaction. Then, slowly, Louis nodded, a look of quiet understanding crossing his features as he pulled Harry into him once again.

“I won't do it again,” Louis' words were muffled as he pressed his lips to Harry's temple, “I promise. I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

They both took a seat on the edge of the bed. Harry tried to put some distance between them so he wouldn't get distracted by the constant need to touch the older boy. He waited for Louis to break the silence first.

“Well, they all know,” Louis said, finally, “my mum, my sisters. They all know about me. About us.”

Harry's mouth fell open at the confession. Out of all the things he'd expected to hear, that had been the last. His eyes shifted over the smooth skin of Louis' face, as though examining him for the truth, and Louis stared back carefully, blue eyes quietly saying _It's true._ Then, as though the wind had been knocked from his lungs, Harry closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief.

“What happened?” He asked, “When I left that night, what happened?”

Louis shook his head as he stared at the floor.

“He just kept going _on_ and _on_ about sending me away to this place or that place. It was exactly how I thought he'd react, Harry,” Louis laughed bitterly, as if he'd been right all along, “I wanted to disappear. He told me not to tell my mum because it would break her heart.”

Harry's heart was beating in his throat.

“Did you?”

“Didn't have to,” Louis said, quietly, looking at the floor, “she overheard the whole thing when she came home. She was standing right at the door when he said it.”

“How did she react?”

Harry prepared himself for the worst. Prepared himself for Louis to break down into a mess of tears and tell him he'd been kicked out. He was surprised when he saw a small smile grace Louis' features,

“She was so great,” he said, “she told him that he couldn't speak to me like that and that she wouldn't stand for it, no matter what.”

Harry blinked, overwhelmed by the warm surge that flowed through his body at that moment. He couldn't help the almost overwhelming feeling that consumed him, a feeling so strong, so long-awaited, that after a while he could no longer contain it and it fell from his mouth in the form of a giddy laugh.

“Really?”

“Yes, she told him that if he ever so much as looked at me again, she would take him to court for harassment,” Louis grinned, “she told him to get out.”

“She kicked him out?” Harry beamed. “Really?”

“Really,” Louis nodded, “I was so shocked I just burst into tears right on the spot. She kicked him out!”

“Where is he now?” Harry asked.

“Fuck if I know! He's gone. I've spent these last two days coming out to my sisters and talking to my mum about...everything. I told her I didn't want to be a minister,” he smiled, “I told her about you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Harry tried to hide the smile that threatened to crack his face.

“What did she say?”

Louis paused for a moment and looked away from Harry's gaze, light red staining his cheeks. Harry tilted his head to the side,

“What?” Harry asked, “What's that look for? What did she say?”

“She said...she said that, on some level, she already knew,” Louis shrugged, a soft lift of shoulders.

Harry raised his eyebrows, heartbeat thudding softly in his chest, “How could she?”

“I don't know,” Louis bit his lip, “she said that I was different with you than with my other friends. Did you know she used to spy on us playing football in the garden?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well, she did.” Louis continued, voice small and almost wistful, “she said some things are just obvious, no matter how much you try to tell yourself they're not there.”

Harry kept his gaze steady on Louis'.

“I think it will take her some time,” Louis said, a glint of a frown passing across his face, “but I think it will be OK.”

Harry reached out and touched Louis' hand, resting on the blanket,

“It _will_ be OK.”

Louis turned his hand so that their palms were touching, lacing their fingers, “I know.”

They stayed that way for a long moment, until finally Harry peered up into Louis' eyes and said,

“I told Niall about us.”

“Oh...wow, OK, not easing me into this then,” Louis laughed, eyes crinkling as his hand tightened around Harry's.

“I'm sorry, if you wanted to tell him-”

Louis interrupted him with a kiss. Harry blinked at him, slowly, then leaned in to press his lips firmly against Louis'. He slipped a hand up to cup Louis' jaw, index finger tracing a line along the stubbled skin. When they broke apart, Harry's eyes were glazed,

“Harry,” Louis said, “you can tell whoever you want.”

The words made Harry's stomach flip and his heart race with a sudden, overwhelming rush of desire. In one smooth motion Harry placed his hands under Louis' thighs, picking him up and planting him firmly down onto the mattress, until he was hovering above him on the bed. Louis looked up at him with dark eyes, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. Slowly, he reached up and began to curl his fingers around a loose strand of hair that had fallen from behind Harry's ear.

“Remember when we were younger and I used to style your hair for you?” Louis said, still stroking the strands, “And it always just looked the same afterwards because I really didn't do anything to it at all?”

Harry's eyes widened at the realisation. He sat back on his knees, pulling his body from its position over Louis',

“Wait a second, you _knew_ it didn't look any different?” Harry said, aghast, “You told me you were fixing it!”

Louis shrugged, a glimmer of mischief shining in his eyes, “Well I had to tell you something otherwise you'd get suspicious.”

Harry reached over and grabbed a pillow from beside Louis' head, then whacked him over the face with it.

“I _knew_ it didn't look any different!” Harry cried.

Louis could barely breath from laughing, “Sometimes it looked _worse_.”

Harry immediately hit him with the pillow once again. When he finally stopped, Louis smiled up at him,

“I liked it though. Seeing you walking around school with stupid hair, knowing nobody had touched it after me.”

A warmth spread through Harry's chest, lowering down into his hips. He'd never known Louis had thought that way about him and the realisation, even so many years later, was heady. The feeling intensified when he felt Louis' hands on his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were against each other, only the bare fabric of their clothes separating them.

“So,” Harry said, leaning forward to brush his nose against Louis', “you don't want to be a minister?”

Louis peered at him with wide eyes, then slowly shook his head,

“I never wanted to be,” he said, “I just thought it was expected. I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought....”

Louis trailed off.

Harry wrapped his arms around Louis and pulled him close.

“I guess my trip to Africa won't be a missionary trip anymore, huh?” Louis said, chuckling.

Harry froze, then silently reprimanded himself for being surprised. Of course Louis would still go to Africa, why would that change? Why would Harry think this would change anything? Still, the thought of not seeing him for so long when they'd only _just_ seemed to be on the right track made a deep pain throb in his heart.

Louis seemed to sense the sudden stiffness in Harry's body, because he pulled back and examined him with curious eyes,

“What?” Louis asked, grip still loose on Harry's waist, “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, terrible at lying, “I'm just...I forgot, I suppose...”

“Forgot what?”

“That you're leaving,” Harry's voice was low, serious, as if it really had only just hit him, “you're leaving for a year, Louis. What are we--”

But his thoughts were cut off by Louis' lips on his mouth, firm and insistent, tongue sweeping past his lips, like a reassurance.

“I have to go,” Louis said, “I've already paid for it. Besides, I want to help. Even though I don't want to be the Pope, I can still do some fucking good, y'know?”

Harry shook his head and laughed, despite the worry still threading through his veins, because he knew. He _knew_. For a moment, all his selfish thoughts about not wanting Louis to leave were overwhelmed by how proud he was of him.

“I'm going to send you a text every day,” Harry said.

“Just the one? Jeez, don't spoil me, Haz,” Louis teased, eyes glittering, “I expect my phone to never _cease_ buzzing. I want to be updated about everything you do when you head off to Bristol to become a big shot lawyer.”

Bristol. Right. Shit, Harry hadn't told Louis about...

“Uh, Lou...” Harry's voice was thick, a mix of excitement and slight apprehension, “about Bristol. There might be a slight change of plan.”

Louis' eyes shifted over Harry's, brow furrowing slightly as the words sank in,

“You're not studying law?”

“Well, I don't know yet,” Harry scratched the back of his neck, “the talent scout who came to watch me and Niall at the London gig, well, he's been in touch and he's kind of interested in introducing us to some people. Like, _industry_ people, y'know?”

Louis' eyes widened as he sat up on the bed, back pressed to the wooden headrest. The movement caused Harry to pull back and sit on his knees. Harry's body felt cold, so far from Louis'.

“Industry people?” Louis repeated, steadily.

“Yeah. Like, there was something mentioned about this tour thing,” Harry wasn't sure why he was so nervous, “potentially. Nothing is set in stone, but yeah. So, there's that...”

Harry peered up at Louis, unsure what he would find lying in the other boy's gaze. He was surprised when suddenly he felt the full weight of five-foot-nothing Louis crashing into him, arms clutching him tight as the older boy pulled him into a fierce embrace. When Louis pulled away, his eyes glowed with excitement,

“Are you fucking _serious_ , Harry? You have to do it!”

Harry's heart exploded with joy as he processed the excitement on Louis' face. Part of him had worried that Louis would react badly to the news, see it as another obstacle for them to overcome, but he had nothing to fear. Louis was excited for him. Louis _wanted_ him to go. Louis _supported_ him. The thought alone caused Harry to lean into Louis' arms and vow never to let him go.

“I haven't made a decision yet,” Harry said, laughing as Louis stood up on the bed and began dancing around with excitement, “sit _down_ you idiot.”

When Louis finally sat down, he gave Harry a serious look,

“Well, what are you going to do then?” He asked, “When do results come out?”

“Wednesday,” Harry said, “two days.”

“That's the day I leave,” Louis smiled sadly, “I'll have just enough time to be there when you get your results and then I'm off.”

Harry's heart clenched at the thought of opening the results of whatever fate he might be destined to with one hand, only to wave Louis away with the other.

“Promise me you won't meet any hot musicians or prospective lawyers while I'm gone,” Louis huffed out a laugh, attempting a light tone but failing miserably, “I won't be happy.”

Harry batted his arm, “Don't be stupid.”

“It's not stupid when I've got a boyfriend as fit as you,” Louis said.

Harry's brain short-circuited at the label. Boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. Louis just called Harry his boyfriend and the thought of it made Harry's head dizzy.

“That's OK, isn't it? Calling you my boyfriend?” Louis said, obviously taking Harry's silence as something else, “Because we can take it slow, y'know, I don't want to put any pressure on this.”

Harry pressed a finger to Louis' lips, silencing him.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“Boyfriend?” Louis quirked an eyebrow.

Harry smiled, shifting closer on the bed, “Mm again.”

“Boyfriend,” Louis repeated, eyes dark.

“One more time.”

“Boyf-”

Harry leaned forward and caught the word in an open-mouthed kiss.

Harry will never get over this, kissing Louis, Louis _allowing_ him to, without any fear or hesitancy. Harry tried not to think about where they'd be now if they could've had this all along. He doesn't dwell on it. After all, they got here in the end, and that's what counts.

-*-

“I have to wait until Louis gets here!”

Harry was on the brink of pulling out every hair on his head, such was the state of his nerves. The thick, white envelope in his hand taunted him, begging to be opened, and yet everything within him wanted to drop it to the ground and run away from it as fast as he could. Niall and Liam were in a similar state of panic, but they managed to hide it with a little bit more dignity than Harry, who felt like he was going to throw up.

Niall rested his body against the gates of the school, holding the paper up to the sun to see if he could see the results through the envelope. Frowning, he pulled it back down and continued to wait with the rest of them.

“What's taking him so long!” Liam folded his arms, glancing at his watch.

“Well, he does have to pack for Africa, _Liam_ ,” Harry said, frowning, “give him a break.”

Liam's mouth dropped open, “Y'know, I miss when you and Louis weren't talking. We'd have had these opened by now and would be down at the pub celebrating.”

“Or drowning our sorrows,” Niall said, “I'm not holding my breath for anything good.”

Liam threw an arm around Niall, “Cheer up, mate, you're not going to care about A-level results when you're touring the UK!”

“That's if Haz doesn't decide to go to Bristol,” Niall said, gesturing towards Harry, who was biting his lip, “no pressure!”

Harry did feel pressure, though. After all, it wasn't just his life it would effect. Harry knew Niall would jump on the chance to be a musician and go on tour, and the only thing holding him back was Harry. Still, Harry needed to be smart about this.

At that moment, a familiar silver Vauxhall Astra pulled around the corner and parked at the side of the road. Louis opened the passenger door and rushed over to meet them, pushing a pair of Ray Bans up onto his head as he brusquely shoved past groups of Halls Cross pupils, all clutching their results like lifelines.

“Sorry lads!” He said, “I had a bit of a last minute crisis trying to find my passport.”

“You heading to the airport after this?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, I have to, Mum's waiting in the car,” he said, pointing his thumb back at the waiting car.

Harry peered over to where Jay was sitting in the Vauxhall, her hair pulled back into a ponytail as she stared across at them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to Jay, still burned by the look of pity and judgement in her eyes when she'd basically ignored him all those years, but when she met his gaze across the busy expanse of road that separated them, she smiled. Harry was comforted by the gesture and gave a small nod, which she returned.

“Right, are we going to fucking open these or what?” Niall snapped, shaking his head.

Nerves obviously made Niall very churlish.

Liam and Niall began to rip open their letters, too overcome with nervous excitement to wait any longer. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Louis reached out and touched his knuckles, brushing the skin with his fingers,

“It's your choice to make,” Louis said, “whatever happens.”

Harry nodded slowly, then ripped open his letter, unfolding it as his hands shook. When his eyes landed on the neatly typed print, he paused. Around him, he could hear Liam and Niall discussing their results.

“Aw man, an A and two B's!” Liam said, as if the results were acceptable but not ideal, “I could've sworn I got an A in English!”

“Stop moanin', I got a C and two D's,” Niall said, momentarily gutted, then chirped, “ah well, sure, not the end of the world.”

Harry remained silent as he listened. Blue eyes peered at him expectantly as Louis' lips twitched with the effort not to rush him. Then, suddenly, Louis' patience broke,

“Tell me!”

“I got three A's,” Harry said, curls falling into his eyes as he tried to hide his blushing grin, “I can't believe it.”

Louis immediately pulled him into a hug, “Genius!”

“That's amazing Harry!” Liam said, face lighting up. “Well done, you deserve it mate!”

Harry felt like he was floating on air. Still, despite the happiness he felt at achieving such good grades, he realised that this would simply make his decision even harder. One look at Niall told Harry he felt the same.

“Well done, Haz,” Niall said, waiting for Louis to pull his arms from around Harry before he replaced them with his own, “I meant it when I said 'no pressure', too. It's your decision.”

Harry smiled as Niall pulled back, unable to help the rush of affection that overwhelmed him for his best friends. Harry felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

A blast from a horn interrupted their thoughts. Across the road, Louis' mother rolled down the window of the car and pointed to her wristwatch. Harry's eyes immediately flicked to Louis, who peered back at him with a small, sad smile,

“Guess that's my queue.”

Harry's face dropped into a deep frown. Around them, Niall and Liam stood silently, before Liam finally said,

“Hey Nialler, let's go over here a second.”

Niall peered at him, “Over where?”

“Just, over here,” Liam jerked his head in a not-so-subtle gesture for the blonde to follow. Harry glanced between them, wondering for a moment if Niall had told Liam anything, or if Liam just instinctually knew that Harry and Louis needed a moment to themselves. “I want to show you something.”

Niall muttered a few expletives before allowing himself to be lead away by Liam's coaxing hands, leaving Harry and Louis alone. Louis turned to Harry and opened his mouth to speak, when the sound of a car door slamming stopped him. They turned their heads in time to see Louis' mum approaching them, a shy smile on her lips.

“Hi Harry,” she said, “how are you, love?”

“I'm good,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious, “how are you?”

“Good,” she nodded, though her expression conveyed a range of conflicting emotions, most of them unreadable to Harry, “been an interesting few days.”

Harry felt a nervous twinge in his stomach as Jay's eyes fell upon him, but as he looked up to meet her gaze he detected no judgement, just the simple conveying of facts. As Jay stood opposite Harry and Louis, her gaze fell between them, as though carefully examining the way they looked together. It reminded Harry of the way Niall had looked when Harry had first told him about his relationship with Louis. Like she was trying to think back on all the times where she should've known. Then her eyes shifted to focus solely on Louis.

“Louis, we need to go now or you're going to miss your flight,” she said, eyes watering slightly, followed by a small laugh, “you don't want to develop a reputation on your first day.”

“Don't want to carry the reputation over, you mean,” Harry said, eyes fond as he teased Louis.

Louis' mouth fell open, aghast, “I resent that.”

“Harry knows you too well,” Jay said.

Harry looked over at her and there was an intensity to her gaze as she stared back.

_I'll look after him_ .

He wanted to say the words out loud, to reassure Jay that this was what they both wanted, that it was right, but instead he simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Louis, fingers digging into his back as he squeezed his eyes shut. When Harry inhaled the scent on Louis' white t-shirt, it smelled like Dove soap and Herbal Essences shampoo, the same brand Louis' sister had used for years and had no idea Louis was stealing. Harry felt Louis' hands firm on his back, stroking up and down. Anyone looking would _know_.

“Harry, would you like to come with us to the airport?” Jay asked, suddenly, prompting Harry to look up at her with wide, green eyes.

Louis looked equally surprised by the offer.

“Really?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes, trying to mask the same mistiness that was present in Jay's own. Harry wondered if it was sharp empathy that prompted Jay's offer.

“Really,” she smiled, “you can come with us and I'll drive you home. I think Louis would like that.”

It wasn't quite an admittance of their relationship, but it was close enough. From the smile on Louis' face, it was more than enough.

After Louis had said his farewells to Niall and Liam, (with Niall declaring that he'd promised himself he wouldn't cry before promptly bursting into tears, and Louis reprimanding him for being _worse than Zayn_. Liam, ever the gentleman, told Louis that he expected a present upon his return. Preferably something tribal) Harry and Louis followed Louis' mother over to the car, hopping into the back seat so they could at least sneakily hold hands without being too obvious about it. Harry still sensed a hint of discomfort from Jay about the whole thing, but she was being decent about it. He knew that, in time, she would adjust. The thought made a light of hope shine within him.

On the way to the airport, Harry kept his eyes focused on the window, watching the flicker of passing cars along the duel carriageway as they approached their destination. God, Harry really didn't want to say goodbye. The thought of Louis walking away at the airport made the air catch in his lungs. He couldn't _breathe_.

When they pulled into the airport car park, Harry immediately stepped out first and began pulling Louis' bags from the back, trying to be helpful. Louis laughed as he approached Harry, fondly mimicking the troubled frown on the brunette's face. When Harry looked up at him, he couldn't help but smile,

“I don't look like that,” he said, barely able to say the words through the lump in his throat, “I don't.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis said, further exaggerating the expression, before letting it drop, “I beg to differ. I've had to look at that face all the way from Holmes Chapel, so I definitely know what it looks like.”

Harry shook his head, trying to pull himself from the hopeless funk he'd fallen into. It was no use, though. Every time he looked at Louis, the pain grew worse. Jay seemed to feel the same, since she could barely look at Louis without tears forming in her eyes.

They all walked into the airport together, passing through check-in easily before accompanying Louis to the security point, where they could go no further. When Louis turned to them, his eyes were moist. Harry stepped back as he allowed Louis and his mother to have a moment to say goodbye. He could hear Louis' whispered _thank you'_ s and immediately felt like he'd invaded a private moment. Then suddenly Harry was aware of being watched and turned his head towards Louis and Jay, where their eyes were focused upon him. Jay whispered into Louis' ear while Louis smiled fondly. With that, Jay turned and walked away, giving Louis and Harry some privacy. When she was finally out of sight, Harry approached Louis,

“What was that about?” He asked, noticing the smile still present on Louis' face.

That smile was everything to Harry.

“She told me not to say anything too emotional because you look like you're on the brink of losing it already,” he grinned, though his eyes were glittering with unspent tears, “she's got a point, too.”

Harry couldn't even bring himself to laugh, so he settled for a small exhale of breath that he hoped would pass, “'m not.”

The argument was feeble. Louis responded by reaching out and clasping his hand, kissing his knuckles,

“I'll be back before you know it,” he said.

“Not soon enough,” Harry pouted, “you're very selfish for being so charitable, you know that?”

“Apologies.”

Harry pulled Louis into a hug, an attempt to ground himself, “Not accepted.”

He could feel Louis' soft breaths on his neck, then the damp heat of lips on the curve, the faint ghost of Louis' tongue on his skin. A secret between them. Harry's cheeks burned red. He closed his eyes,

“I think I'm going to go on the tour,” he whispered, arms still wrapped around Louis' shoulders, “I think that's what I want.”

Louis pulled back then, a smile spreading across his features, “Yeah?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah.”

Louis leaned forward and pecked him on the mouth. Harry had to stop himself for leaning in and demanding more.

“I think that's a good decision,” Louis said, “just...I mean it when I said about the hot musicians though. Don't even look at another boy, OK?”

“Might be a bit difficult,” Harry said, “I mean, when the cat's away the mice will-”

“Styles, if you finish that sentence, I'm breaking up with you.”

“...play.”

Harry grinned. Louis raised his hand and dropped it,

“It's over.”

Louis turned and pretended to walk away, but even pretending caused a jolt of panic to surge through Harry's system. He reached out and grabbed Louis' wrist, tugging him back until there was not an inch of space between them.

He felt Louis' body still beneath him.

“I have to go now,” Louis whispered, stroking Harry's curls, “I'll be in touch every day. I promise, you'll be sick of me.”

Harry searched Louis' eyes with his own,

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don't want to be a minister anymore, right?” Harry asked.

“Right,” Louis replied, steadily.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

Harry's heart beat steadily in his chest, unsure whether or not to broach the subject. Still, it's all he'd been thinking about for days.

“I don't know,” Louis quirked an eyebrow, suspicion edging his features, “why?”

Harry shrugged, biting his lips. He could barely bring himself to look at Louis,

“It's just...Niall and I were talking and we thought, maybe, our sound could use something a bit more diverse, y'know? I mean, at the moment it's just guitar and drums, but there's all these amazing bands at the moment and they've got all sorts of instruments,” Fuck, he was rambling, “and we were just talking and we thought-- well, your name came up, because you play piano, and what with piano being such a diverse instrument and, as I said, we're looking for a more diverse sound, well we thought maybe you could play with us. Just, for a bit, just until we got something more permanent because--”

“Harry,” Louis interrupted, an amused smile playing at the corner of his lips, “I'd love to.”

Harry couldn't believe it. It felt like an explosion in his chest as he looked at Louis, taking in the faint creases at the corners of his eyes.

“Really?” Harry beamed.

“If your rambling is anything to go by, I'm clearly needed,” Louis teased.

“You are,” Harry said, closing in on Louis and kissing him on the mouth, because who the fuck cares if anyone sees, “you are needed. Very badly. We suck.”

Louis returned the kiss. A lady beside them cleared her throat and when they turned, she was staring at them pointedly. Louis pulled a face at her and Harry giggled, unable to contain his joy, and nobody (not even a stupid lady at the airport) could ruin this for him.

When they finally pulled apart, Louis slowly began to walk towards the security gates. It took all of Harry's restraint not to run after him as he passed through.

When he made his way back over to Jay, he found her sitting on one of the benches lining the airport lounge, tears streaming down her face. When he sat down beside her and put a hand over hers, she held tight.

 

-*-


	10. Out of the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is it, the final chapter in this very angst-y adventure! I just want to say thank you to everyone who stuck with this. I know it wasn't an easy ride, so for that I applaud you. I would say this is by far the most angst-driven thing I've ever written (and will be writing for a while). 
> 
> If you have any questions, please feel free to leave a comment. Apart from that, I hope you enjoy.

One Year Later

“Niall, hurry up!”

Harry waited at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips, car keys clenched in his fingers. Upstairs, he could hear the familiar sounds of Niall bashing about his room, chaos being his own personal soundtrack.

“I'm coming,” Niall called back, followed by a crash, “woops!”

“I'm _serious_!” Harry huffed, “We're going to be late. Louis' flight gets in in an hour.”

Niall suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black _Ramones_ t-shirt and a baseball cap on top of his head. He took the steps two at a time.

“Look,” Niall said, “I understand you want to see your man, but you really need to tone down the sass!”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but found he couldn't even excuse himself. He shrugged,

“Put it this way, if you hadn't been with anyone in a year and Melissa was waiting at the airport, what would you be like?” Harry asked.

Niall set his chin firmly, tilting his head up as if prepared to take the high road, then slowly shook his head,

“Point.”

They both padded along the hall of their apartment building and made their way down to Harry's car. Liam was waiting in the hallway on the ground floor, face lightly stubbled and eyes hooded from the early rise. He greeted them with a low grunt.

“Rough night, Liam?”

Niall looked him up and down.

“Don't ask.”

Ever since Liam had started at Birkbeck University, his ability to juggle late-night drinking seven nights a week with a part-time job and a string of dates, all while studying, was a talent that one could only admire.

“Well, you need to liven up a bit, Harry's about to have a heart attack if he doesn't see lover boy the _second_ he steps off the plane.”

Liam chuckled when Harry turned to fix Niall with a glare.

“See what I mean?” Niall whispered.

It's true, Harry was a little bit eager to see Louis. It turned out Louis was wrong when he said Harry would be sick of him by the time he got back. Far from putting Harry off, the commitment Louis showed in his efforts to keep Harry up-to-date with every tiny little thing that happened while he was in Africa made Harry feel like he was walking on the sun every single day. Every picture Louis sent -along with frequent texts- of him playing with the kids, showing them how to play football, picking them up and cuddling them and making Harry just want to reach out and kiss him, made Harry ache with need.

The thought alone had him breaking several speed limits on the way to the airport.

“So,” Liam said, a nervous edge to his tone as he peered out of the passenger window, forcing himself not to comment on the speed, “how was your last gig of the tour?”

Harry and Niall had finished their mini-tour of the UK the week before, which started and ended in London. The experience was one Harry would never forget, though some memories he wished he could. Such as Niall's naked, pale ass glinting in the moonlight as he skinny-dipped into Bassenthwaite Lake.

“Aw man, it was brilliant,” Niall piped up from the back seat, “it was great ending the tour in London. I was so glad to walk home afterwards and not have to sleep in the back of that stupid bus.”

Niall had a particularly love-hate relationship with the tour bus. Harry had to admit, the idea of renting a flat in London had seemed daunting at first, but luckily the previous tenants were leased right up until the week before Harry and Niall's tour with Smooth Talent ended, so they were free to move right in. Harry had walked up to his room on his first night in their new flat and lay sprawled on his bed. He'd taken a picture of the empty space beside him and sent it to Louis. _Lonely here by myself_ , he'd written. In reply, Louis had sent him a picture of his unimpressed face. _Tough shit, you'll have to wait for me!_

Harry had had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing and waking Niall up.

The idea really was laughable. How could Harry even think about anyone else when Louis was the only thing on his mind?

When he finally found himself standing in the airport lounge waiting for Louis, there were butterflies in his stomach. Fucking _butterflies_. Harry's nerves weren't helped by Liam, who kept shouting _'There he is_!' about anyone who even slightly resembled Louis in any way.

“Don't kill him,” Niall muttered, presumably about Liam, “he's a simple man, don't kill him.”

“I won't,” Harry muttered, biting on the words.

“I was talking to myself.”

Their eyes connected for a moment, until Harry's face cracked and they both erupted into laughter. Momentarily, the tension was broken.

“There he is!” Liam called.

Harry turned his head, like he'd done every single time Liam had declared some random person to be Louis, only this time the small figure walking through the doorway held a painful familiarity that all the others lacked. Harry's heart clenched in his chest as Louis turned his head, searching through the terminal, before his eyes finally landed on them.

“Oh God,” Harry said, exhaling a breath, “shit.”

Louis looked...

_Wow._

The small smile that curved Louis' features as he stood at the other side of the lobby, suitcase in hand, the bronze of his skin easily visible on his face and forearms, made Harry feel slightly self conscious.

When Louis finally approached, Harry ran his fingers back through his hair, frantically fixing the strands.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall muttered, “you look fine, Haz, it's _Louis_.”

_Yes, of course, it's Louis. Pull yourself together._

Liam and Niall approached first, throwing their arms around Louis to pull him into a group hug. Louis' eyes crinkled shut as he let himself be sucked into their warmth, enjoying every moment.

“You smell of airplane and cheese,” Liam finally said.

“It _is_ nice to be back, Liam,” Louis replied, sarcastically, “thanks for asking and not being _at all_ rude.”

“I didn't say the smell was bad,” Liam pouted.

“I had cheese and crackers on the plane,” Louis said, “that explains both smells. Also, I'm keeping the tribal mask I bought you because you hurt my feelings.”

Liam's mouth dropped open.

“How was your trip?” Niall asked, changing the subject, “Good flight?”

“Very turbulent,” Louis shook his head and touched his stomach, as if sickened from the memory, “put me off flying for life.”

Harry hadn't said a word since Louis stepped into his immediate presence. He felt like a schoolboy with a crush. He _was_ a schoolboy with a crush. When Louis' eyes turned to him, he blushed.

“Hi,” Harry said, tongue thick in his mouth.

“Hey yourself,” Louis smiled, stepping closer, until Harry could feel the warmth of breath on his face, “miss me?”

Harry reached out and pulled Louis in from the waist, pressing his face into the curve of his neck. His heart was beating furiously, colouring his cheeks the faintest shade of pink. Under his hands, he could feel the tremors of Louis' laughter, followed by the sensation of hands in his hair.

“I missed you,” Harry nodded against Louis' shoulder, “very much.”

“I'm glad,” Louis whispered, pulling back to look into green eyes, “ because I spent a lot of money texting you.”

Harry laughed, dimples cratering his cheeks. Louis pressed his finger into one, then regarded Harry with a slow glance, up and down the length of his body.

“You look hot,” he said, low enough for only them to hear.

Harry looked down at what he was wearing, a polka dot shirt beneath a fitted blazer and black jeans, and then back up at Louis.

“I made an effort,” he said, raising his eyebrow.

Louis licked his lips and looked down at his own, much plainer, outfit, “Wish you would've told me.”

“You look hot too,” Harry said, eyes dark.

“What, seriously?” Louis raised an eyebrow.

“ _Seriously_.”

A pleased grin spread over Louis' face, lightening his eyes. At this point, Liam cleared his throat. Harry became acutely aware of the fact the he and Louis had been eye-fucking each other for about five minutes in full, public view.

“You two make me sick,” Niall said.

Liam nodded in agreement.

Harry and Louis laughed before Harry grabbed Louis' hand in his and began following Niall and Liam through the airport, back towards the car.

-*-

When Harry shut the door of his room, he immediately turned to face Louis, who had already disposed of his suitcase and coat in the corner of the room. Louis cast his eyes over the black and gold bedspread, then idly made his way over to the mirror on the vanity table. Framed pictures littered the dark wood of the table and a few scattered photo prints were tacked to the rim of the mirror.

“Nice digs, Styles,” Louis said, nodding his head, “very nice.”

Louis traced his index finger over a picture of Harry and Louis when they were kids, no older than nine and eleven, sitting on Louis' bed and staring at the camera with miserable, unimpressed faces. There was a scrabble board perched between them. When Harry had spotted the picture hidden in the depths of his attic at home, he found the juxtaposition of past and present too beautiful to ignore.

“God, did we hate each other that much?” Louis laughed, picking up the picture with both hands and examining it closely.

Harry grinned as he slowly approached Louis, looking at the picture over his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his small body, pulling him close.

“No,” Harry said, “I hated you. You had a crush on me.”

Harry smiled as Louis turned to look at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Who told you _that_?”

“You told me,” Harry shrugged.

Louis raised his eyebrows and let out a non-committal huff as he set the picture down, “I lied.”

“No, you didn't,” Harry buried his face in Louis' hair.

Louis moaned at the contact, then turned into Harry's embrace, “I lied. I hated you. Still do, in fact.”

“I understand,” Harry nodded, feigning solemnity, “I can tell.”

To prove the point, Harry skimmed his knuckles down Louis' side, planting his hand on the expanse of skin at the hem of Louis' t-shirt. Louis inhaled sharply, causing Harry to smirk.

“Doesn't sound like you hate me.”

“That was the sound of disgust, I assure you,” Louis said, raising his chin.

Harry grinned, stepping forward until the back of Louis' legs hit the vanity table, forcing him to sit on the edge. Harry set his hands on either side of the table beside Louis' thighs, trapping him.

“Still disgusted?”

Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips against Louis', opening his mouth and ghosting his tongue along Louis' bottom lip. When Louis reached with his own to deepen the contact, Harry pulled back, grinning.

“You're so weak, Tommo.”

Louis' eyes widened as he peered at Harry, then he gritted his teeth and bunched his hands in Harry's shirt, forcing him back until his legs hit the bed and they both fell onto the mattress.

“You are _infuriatingly_ sexy, Styles,” Louis said, kissing Harry's face while Harry laughed, eyes bright, “I can't get enough of it!”

“Serves you right for calling me disgusting,” Harry said.

“Are you kidding me? You're the hottest thing I've ever seen,” Louis said, the crinkles by his eyes dropping to express something serious, “and I missed you so fucking much.”

Harry swallowed, laughter dying in his throat as he peered up at Louis, blinking slowly.

“I missed you too.”

With that, Louis leaned down slowly, taking his time, and pressed his lips against Harry's. He opened his mouth as Harry's tongue slid against his lips, requesting access, and immediately they were enveloped in each other. Harry snaked his hands around Louis' waist, the weight of Louis' small body making him feel dizzy, then rested his palm on the base of Louis' spine. Harry pressed down firmly, until Louis' hips were tight against his own. He gave a satisfied grin as Louis inhaled sharply at the friction.

“Careful,” Louis breathed.

Harry's eyebrows knotted, then realisation slowly passed over his face as he saw the slackness of Louis' mouth and the tiny crease between his eyebrows, as if fighting for total control. Harry held his breath, then slowly rolled his hips. Down by his sides, he could feel the movement of Louis' hands as he fisted his fingers in the bedsheets, bunching the material. Harry was already half-hard in his underwear and he could feel that Louis was too. It made his mouth salivate and he licked his lips, trying to steady the tremor of his heartbeats.

It would be a lie to say that Harry hadn't thought about this from the moment Louis left for Africa. It'd been a year since Harry and Louis made their relationship official, yet Louis' gap year had made it impossible for anything to really progress between them. At least, not in the way Harry yearned for. A year ago, everything had been too raw, too new, and all the chaos and confusion had left very little time for Harry and Louis to find any sort of physical expression for their feelings that went beyond kissing.

Now, here they were, one year later and Harry was sprawled out beneath Louis on the bed. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation felt like it was crushing Harry. Louis looked down at him with dark eyes, pupils blown until the blues of his iris' were barely visible. Harry swallowed,

“Louis...”

His breaths felt tight and constricted in his lungs, he could barely form words on his tongue. From the expression on Louis' face, he didn't need to say anything. Harry wrapped one arm around Louis' waist to steady them, then slowly coaxed the smaller boy around until their positions were swapped. Harry caught sight of Louis' pulse flickering under the skin of his neck.

“Are you nervous?” Harry whispered.

Louis said nothing, simply nodded. He looked impossibly young in that moment. Harry reached up and trailed his fingers through Louis' fringe, pushing the strands back.

“I've never...” Louis stopped, then shut his eyes as if he didn't want to say the words, “I mean, I did with Eleanor, but I haven't-”

“It's OK,” Harry said.

Louis looked up at him, eyes wide and searching, as though looking for an answer to a question he didn't want to ask. Harry immediately knew what it was. _Have you?_

Harry almost had, once, with Darren. Darren had kissed him and coaxed him, and Harry knew it was going that way, all that was left to do was just _do it_. He couldn't make himself go through with it.

“I haven't either.”

Louis' eyebrows puckered together, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then finally he smiled so widely that his eyes crinkled and all his teeth were revealed. Harry suddenly realised why he'd said no to Darren. It was for this moment. Somewhere in his mind, he'd been hoping for this.

“Really?” Louis asked, “Not even with-”

Harry leaned down to press a kiss to Louis' mouth, hoping the gesture would provide enough of an answer to settle his thoughts.

“Not even with.”

Louis' face softened, appeased by the words, and he sat up on his elbow. Harry's breath caught in his throat when Louis' free hand settled on Harry's back, then slowly trailed down until it was hovering above the waistband of his jeans. Harry closed his eyes as he felt the heat of Louis' soft exhalations ghosting over his skin, then held his breath as Louis' fingers dipped below the fabric to tease the base of his spine.

“Lower,” Harry whispered.

Harry didn't open his eyes, but he could feel Louis' hand pause on his skin. For a moment he thought Louis was going to pull back, but then he felt his hand creep lower below the waistband, palm resting on the curve of Harry's bum. Harry inhaled a sharp breath as he felt Louis' index finger delicately trace down the seam of his ass. The sensation was tentative at first, testing the boundaries, until Harry grew so frustrated with the lightness of the touch that he shifted back, forcing it deeper.

“Do you like that?” Louis asked.

When Harry looked down, Louis' eyes were fixed on him, monitoring every slight change in Harry's expression.

“Yes,” he replied.

Louis dipped his finger further until the tip was pressed against the puckered muscle of Harry's entrance. Harry inhaled sharply at the contact and Louis, misreading this response, immediately pulled his hand away,

“Sorry,” Louis said, shaking his head, “sorry, I should have-”

“No,” Harry immediately grabbed Louis' hand, which had moved to rest on the small of his back, and returned it to its original position, “no, don't stop.”

Harry looked down at Louis and bit his lip. By this point, Harry's cock was nestled snugly in his jeans, hard and aching in the confines. Louis breathed, then peered up at Harry,

“I don't know what I'm doing,” Louis said, a little helplessly.

“Neither do I.”

Louis searched Harry's face with his eyes for one long, considered moment, then slowly continued to brush his finger against Harry's hole, exploring the skin as though it were a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out the answer to. With each stroke, Harry could feel Louis' eyes on his face, categorising every movement that elicited a response and discarding the ones that didn't. It drove Harry wild and he leaned down to plant kisses over Louis' face, trying to show him just how much he wanted this.

However, Harry couldn't help but notice the tension in Louis' body and the slight look of panic in blue eyes, like he was ready to bolt at any minute. It pained Harry to see it. Of course he knew Louis wanted this, could feel the length of Louis' want pressed against him beneath his jeans, but at the same time he knew that this was difficult for Louis. After years of being conditioned to believe that all his desires were perverse, actually giving into them was proving more difficult than he first thought.

“Hey,” Harry said, forcing Louis' eyes towards him, “are you all right?”

Louis nodded, “Yes. Are you?”

Harry's answer was cut off by the sensation of Louis' finger breaching him every-so-slightly, sparking a shot of electricity to run up his spine.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed.

Louis repeated the action, causing Harry to hiss once again. The sensation was alien to Harry, but coupled with the throbbing ache in his crotch it felt like ecstasy.

“Shit, _stop that_ ,” Harry said, “I haven't been touched there before, you're going to make this end way too soon!”

Louis laughed, then pulled his hands from Harry and raised them up in a pacifying gesture. Harry gazed at the finger Louis had used to tease him with, then licked his lips. Louis's brow furrowed as he watched Harry lean in close and take the length of Louis' finger into his mouth. A gesture that was so obscene it made Louis' face burn.

“I want you,” Harry whispered, expression suddenly serious.

Louis was silent for a moment, processing the words, then slowly nodded his head. With that, Harry began to unbutton his shirt, peering down at Louis as he did so. Louis watched with fascination at first, then quickly sat up and slapped Harry's hands away, replacing them with his own. When the shirt was finally unbuttoned, Louis glanced over the white skin of Harry's abdomen as though he was looking at it for the first time. He leaned in and pressed a kiss over a hard nipple, taking the nub into his mouth. Harry reached up and raked his hands through Louis' hair, moaning at the sensation of Louis' tongue on him. Louis moved up from Harry's nipple towards his sternum, then down the curves of his abs towards the button of his jeans. Harry closed his eyes as he felt Louis' fingers fiddling with the metal clasp before slowly pulling down the zip and parting the fabric.

“You're not wearing underwear,” Louis said, voice thick.

“Nope.”

Louis peered up at Harry with wide eyes, then back down at the hard length of Harry's cock, which was protruding from his jeans. Before Louis could touch it, Harry's hands were on him, tugging off his t-shirt and frantically pawing at the fabric of his jeans.

“Off,” Harry said, movements hasty and excited, “now.”

Louis couldn't help but let out a startled laugh as he allowed Harry to undress him, until he was sitting in his underwear and Harry was staring at him, still clothed in his half-opened jeans. When Harry leaned forward and kissed Louis, pressing him down into the sheets, he let his hands wander over the flat planes of Louis' body down towards his waist. When he reached the band of Louis' tight, black boxers, he broke the kiss and opened his eyes to peer at Louis' flushed face. When their eyes met, Louis swallowed visibly

“Is this too much?” Harry asked, smoothing his hand back and forth across the skin of Louis' lower stomach, “I can stop.”

Harry felt his whole body tense as he waited for Louis to answer. Slowly, Louis reached down to place his hand over Harry's, which was still resting on his stomach, and guided it down underneath the waistband of his boxers. Harry exhaled a shaky breath as his fingers cupped the swollen heat of Louis' cock. Louis' mouth fell open at the contact and Harry, unable to conceal the extent of his own arousal, felt his own lips part. This was the most intimate he'd ever been with anyone in his entire life and the fact that it was Louis made the experience even more unbelievable.

Harry began to stroke Louis' length in his hand, feeling it expand and grow, a heated pulse. Louis' hips shifted as he moaned, then reached up to cover the sound with his hand. Harry used his free hand to remove it,

“Don't,” he said, gently, “I want to hear you.”

Louis looked at him with glazed eyes, which widened when Harry repeated the slow rhythm, pumping Louis until he was digging his hands into the bedsheets. Louis let out a soft moan, which evolved into shudders and gasps as Harry worked him, until finally he said,

“Stop stop, if you keep doing that I'm going to-”

Harry removed his hand from Louis' cock and pulled Louis' boxers down around his knees, then replaced his hand with his lips. Harry took half of Louis' length into his mouth and worked the remaining part with his fingers. Louis' words of protest died on his lips at the unexpected action and Harry could feel Louis' hands in his hair, pushing down until he could almost fit all of Louis into his mouth. Harry wanted to do this, he wanted to have all of Louis inside him, and he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He pulled back and let his lips drag along the skin of Louis' cock, up towards the tip, then slowly sank back down.

A sharp pain in Harry's scalp drew his attention back to Louis' hands in his hair, frantic and careless, betraying the older boy's lack of control. Harry felt a smug sense of self satisfaction at the reaction he was provoking from him.

With a final shudder, Louis spent himself into Harry's mouth, unable to hold back the final cry that left his lips as Harry's mouth remained on him, guiding him through the final aftershocks. When every last drop was accounted for, Harry slowly pulled his mouth from Louis and looked up at him through thick lashes.

“I told you to stop,” Louis said, breathlessly, then looked down at the hard length of Harry's cock, which was still perched in his jeans.

“I didn't want to stop.”

After a moment of catching his breath, Louis propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Harry, letting his eyes travel the length of his body before settling once again on the stiffness in his jeans. Harry followed Louis' gaze, then slowly let his own hand travel down to rest on the length of his own cock. Louis licked his lips as Harry closed his eyes and began to work himself, teasing himself with long, languid strokes.

After a minute, Harry felt Louis' proximity from behind closed eyes, the ghost of lips on his own, then the feeling of Louis' naked chest pressing against his as he continued to jerk himself off. Harry felt Louis' lips against the shell of his ear,

“You have no idea how many times I've dreamt about this.”

Harry bit his bottom lip as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to keep his thoughts on the rhythm of his own strokes rather than on Louis' words. He felt a hand on back, trailing lower, until finally Louis' fingers were tracing the seam of his ass, index finger grazing his hole once again. Harry's hips bucked against his own hand and he felt himself leaning his weight against Louis until there was barely a breath of air between them.

Louis' index finger remained locked into position against Harry's hole, stroking gently, and Harry could feel the slight moisture on the tip. He buried his face into the crook of Louis' neck and bit the skin, hard enough to leave a mark.

“You look beautiful like this,” Louis whispered, letting his finger breach Harry's entrance slightly.

Harry groaned at the contact and began to increase his pace. Could feel Louis' length hardening against his thigh, eager for more attention. At that moment, a second finger breached Harry, and Harry's hand stopped moving on his own cock. He pulled back and looked into Louis' eyes,

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry whispered.

Louis' mouth fell open, lips glossy and red. Harry couldn't resist leaning forward and sucking one of them into his mouth. When they parted, Louis replied,

“I want that too.”

At that moment Harry pulled away and reached over to his bedside cabinet, pulling out a packet of condoms and a bottle of lube. Louis, surprised by the action, simply watched as Harry tore open the packaging with his teeth. When Harry leaned over to put it on Louis, Louis stopped him with one hand on his wrist.

“Wait,” Louis said, eyes searching, “do we really need...”

The words died on his lips as he shook his head. Harry was confused at first, until suddenly realisation struck him. He looked down at the condom in his hand and muttered,

“Well, maybe not, if neither of us...” he shrugged, “I mean, I told you I haven't. You definitely haven't?”

It came out as a question even though Harry intended it to be a statement. His heart momentarily stopped as he waited for Louis to confirm.

“Not since Eleanor,” Louis said, “I got checked when I thought she was cheating on me. I'm clean.”

Harry tried to stifle the hot burn of jealousy that coiled through him at the thought of Eleanor and Louis sleeping together. For one brief, sudden moment he felt like he was sixteen again. As if sensing this, Louis reached up and gently trailed his knuckles along Harry's cheek. Harry couldn't help but lean into the touch.

“We don't need it then?” Louis asked, pulling the condom from Harry's hand and throwing it onto the floor.

“No.”

Louis smiled and wrapped his hand around the back of Harry's neck, letting his fingers play with the curls at the nape before pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. Harry quickly broke away to discard of his jeans onto the floor, then perched himself in Louis' lap, allowing their cocks to gently brush as they continued to kiss. Harry reached behind him and grabbed the bottle of lube, then applied a generous amount to his hands. Louis watched with silent interest as the smooth gel slid across Harry's fingers.

“How do you want me?” Harry asked.

In response, Louis reached out and rolled them both over until he was on top of Harry, peering down into green eyes. Harry beamed at the sudden display of dominance, but the smile soon disappeared when Louis skimmed his hands down the length of Harry's body until they were resting beneath his thighs. In one smooth motion, Louis pulled Harry down towards him until their hips fitted snugly together, cocks brushing. Harry inhaled a sharp breath, reaching down until his lube-soaked fingers were brushing against his own hole, seeking to open himself up. Louis allowed the action for long enough until Harry's hole was suitably drenched, then gently replaced Harry's fingers with his own.

With each finger, Harry expanded around him, the blush on his face growing as Louis gently coaxed him open. The sensation of having Louis' fingers inside him was strange at first, with Harry trying to adapt to the insertion of each digit, but eventually he found himself relaxing into it. He ground down as Louis inserted the tip of a third.

“I thought you said you didn't know what you were doing,” Harry whispered.

“I...” Louis' cheeks flushed red, “I watched some stuff.”

Harry stilled for a moment, Louis' fingers still nestled inside him. Their eyes met. Harry could hear his own heartbeat filling the room. Harry had to stop himself from coming on the spot at the thought of Louis in the Halls of Residence, working himself over gay porn.

“I'm ready,” Harry said, biting down on the nerves that threatened to betray his voice, “I'm ready, please.”

To emphasise the fact, Harry reached down and touched Louis' cock, feeling the swell beneath his fingers.

“OK, all right,” Louis gasped, shifting forward, letting Harry's hand guide him to the point of entrance.

Harry leant up and kissed him, eyes heavy with emotion. When their gazes locked, Harry nodded his head, then lay back and inhaled a deep breath.

The initial push forward made Harry's jaw lock and his eyes clench shut as he tried to adjust to the new feeling. He could feel the slow glide of Louis' length inside him, filling him up, until finally the sensation stopped. The wobble of Louis' voice filled his ears,

“You OK?”

Harry looked up into Louis' blue eyes and felt a swell of some foreign emotion he'd never felt before. It felt like all different kinds of love rolled into one, all-encompassing, and for the first time in his life Harry felt frightened of it. No, not frightened of it, frightened of losing it. He reached down and placed his palms on the swell of Louis' bum , pulling him deeper. He could feel Louis' arms trembling on the mattress.

“I'm OK.”

They lost themselves in long, slow kisses as Louis slowly pulled himself back, only to thrust forward again, careful to keep the pace as steady as possible for Harry's sake.

“Faster,” Harry said, forcing Louis deeper into him with his hands, “I can handle it, trust me.”

Louis leant down and pressed his forehead to Harry's, then began to increase the pace of his thrusts. Harry could feel the rising pressure building in his body and he tried to chase it, bucking his hips in time with Louis'. Louis' breaths were harsh and ragged in his ears and Harry knew they wouldn't last long. With a slight twist of his hips, Louis adjusted the angle of his thrusts and Harry's eyes shot open at the sudden brush of friction against some sweet spot inside him. With each new push, Harry felt his insides expanding, until finally he could barely hold himself together.

“Louis, I can't-”

Louis murmured an incoherent response, kissing his hair.

With that, Harry felt himself tense up, a long and intense shudder passing through him, before spidering off into a series of spasms. He dug his hands into Louis' back, scratching into the skin with his nails and dragging them across as he cried out. The sensation of Harry's body clenching around him forced Louis over the edge, until they were both breathing in tandem, bodies flushed as they lay in the silence of the room, kissing and grabbing each other like one of them would disappear at any moment.

“I love you,” Harry said, unable to hold the words to himself, suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of ever losing this, “I love you.”

Louis peered at him with dark, blue eyes and raked his hands back through the damp curls that were pressed across Harry's forehead.

“I love you too.”

They both pulled together, arms wrapped around each other as Louis let his hands settle on Harry's back, tracing patterns into the bare skin. Harry had to convince himself he wasn't dreaming. They remained that way for a while, until Louis' voice broke the silence,

“I've wanted that with you for the longest time.”

Harry turned his head to peer at Louis, who was staring at the ceiling, as though lost in a memory. There was a sadness to his features. Harry wanted to jump into Louis' mind and fight whatever thoughts were causing that sadness.

“Me too,” Harry said.

“I never stopped thinking about you once while I was away, you know that?” Louis said, the hand resting on Harry's hip squeezing lightly.

“I know,” Harry said.

Louis turned onto his side and propped himself onto his elbow, looking deep into Harry's eyes. Somewhere in Harry's mind, he realised that it was important for him to just listen to Louis and not say anything.

“I want you to know that I'm never going to fuck this up,” Louis whispered, a firm edge to his voice, “never. I've loved you for so long, Harry, before you even knew it. I screwed it up over and over again, but I promise you now that I'm in it for the long haul. I'll have you as long as you want me and even if you don't want me I can't guarantee you'll ever get rid of me.”

Harry laughed, moisture pricking the corner of his eyes. “Louis, I know that. Besides, I've stuck with you this long, I'm hardly going to give up now that we're finally getting somewhere!”

“I just...I want you to know how sorry I am. I want to tell you about all the times I was thinking about you, even when you thought I didn't care. I'm just so fucking sorry for all of it. I really do love you, Harry.”

It's all Harry had ever wanted to hear from Louis and now that he was hearing it he just wanted Louis to shut up and stop reminding him of everything that had happened in their past.

“Louis, I know. Please, just stop talking about it so we can spoon.”

Louis stared at Harry with wide eyes, then burst out laughing and wrapped his tanned, toned arms around Harry's abdomen. Harry wriggled down into the embrace, smiling softly.

“Hey,” Louis said, tapping Harry's shoulder, “you mind if I stay here tonight and go home in the morning? I'm just a bit tired from the flight and I can't be bothered getting the train back home.”

“You don't need to get the train,” Harry replied, appalled, “I can take you back in the morning.”

“You're spoiling me, Styles,” Louis said.

“I'm the best boyfriend.”

“Wouldn't go that far.”

Harry pouted, lips large and red against the paleness of his skin. Louis wanted to bite them.

“I take it back,” Louis said, leaning down to take Harry's mouth in his, before whispering, “you are the best boyfriend.”

Harry smiled smugly, content.

“Does your mum know you're staying with me tonight?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Louis replied, “I sent her a text. My sisters were pissed though.”

“Really?” Harry laughed, “Why?”

Louis raised his voice in a scarily accurate imitation of Lottie, “ _Louis, I can't believe you're not spending time with your family on your first day back! You're a terrible brother. We've disowned you._ ”

Harry had to cover his mouth to stop the loud guffaw that threatened to escape through his lips.

“You sound just like her,” Harry said.

“She has a flair for drama, that girl,” Louis rolled his eyes, “not a _clue_ where she gets it from.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Harry glanced down at the sheets of his bed, then up at Louis with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Louis let out an indignant huff, “Probably her ridiculous friends.”

“That must be it.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Anyway, they're just going to have to wait another day to see my beautiful mug.”

Harry looked up at Louis, lips quirked into a half-smile. He let himself enjoy the sight of Louis' naked body beside him in the bed, a mix of sharp angles and smooth contours.

“Do you know what you're going to do now that you're back?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged, “I was thinking about....”

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, “What?”

Louis looked at him and smiled, “Applying to a music course, maybe? Studying piano again.”

Even as Louis was saying the words, he was shaking his head, as if the dream was impossible. Harry grabbed his hand and looked at him with fierce intensity,

“I think you should.” he said, “I always thought you should. Louis, you were meant to play piano.”

Louis smiled softly at first, then the expression stretched until it was taking over his entire face and he had to look away, “You think?”

“ _Yes_ , it's what I've always thought!”

Harry recalled all the times he'd begged Louis to apply for a music course at university. The thought that Louis might actually follow through with it, even if it was a few years later, had Harry flying high with hope.

“I'm just worried,” Louis said, “I mean, it'll cost a lot of money. I don't know how I'll be able to afford it.”

“Apply for a loan,” Harry said, “Or defer your entry until next year! You could play gigs with me and Niall to help with money. We've been talking about introducing another instrument, the piano would be perfect!”

Louis shook his head, mouth dropping open, “I couldn't-”

“It doesn't have to be a permanent thing,” Harry argued, “just something part-time to help you along. Look at me,” Harry reached out and touched his finger to Louis' chin, forcing his eyes towards him, “We could use the extra help.”

“I- I don't know.”

“Louis, please,” Harry said, “I'd love for you to be on stage with us. I know Niall would too.”

Louis searched Harry's eyes for a moment, then quietly said, “Are you sure?”

Harry's face broke out into a wide smile, “Yes.”

Louis nodded slowly, then the edges of his lips quirked up, “All right then.”

Louis barely had time to react before Harry's body was on him.

-*-

Harry glanced at Louis across the small dressing room, observing the way the older boy nervously played with his fringe in the large, bulb-lined mirror before shaking his head and scraping his hands through the strands to start from scratch. A swell of amusement threatened to erupt from Harry's throat but he managed to contain himself.

Outside the dressing room, Harry could hear the buzz of stage hands running around making last minute adjustments, their bodies like shadows in the labyrinth of corridors behind the main stage. Harry knew that the club was already full to capacity, a fact that made Louis even more nervous than he already had been, and that had now caused him to go into a full meltdown over the state of his hair. Niall, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. This had become somewhat of a pre-performance ritual for Harry, but it made Louis sweat.

“Where's Niall?” Louis said, turning away from the mirror to frown at Harry, “Seriously, how can you be so calm? Is he always this late?”

Harry nodded, leaning his head back on the sofa cushion, “Yup. He's probably out front talking to everyone.”

At that moment, a buzz emanated from Louis' phone. Louis pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. He rolled his eyes, “It's my sister. ' _Did you know Niall is out here. Shouldn't he be backstage with you and Harry? Mum keeps trying to steal his drinks while he's not looking so he doesn't get drunk._ ' Jesus Christ.”

Harry snorted out a laugh as Louis punched a reply into his phone. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of Niall standing in the crowd with Louis' mum and sisters, marvelling at how far they'd all come to reach this moment.

It hadn't taken much persuasion for Niall to accept the idea of Louis joining them during performances, since it was the blonde's idea for them to introduce a new instrument into their basic guitar-and-drums formation. Still, Harry had underestimated just how much touring with Smooth Talent had done for their popularity, and when he'd told Louis that his first gig with the band would be in a venue that held a two hundred capacity, the older boy had practically pissed his pants. It took more than a little bit of coaxing (mainly in the form of sexual favours) for Harry to convince him to follow through.

In the weeks that lead up to the gig, Louis had practised piano religiously, forcing Harry to listen to him over the phone for hours at a time. Of course, listening to Louis play piano had only made Harry want to be with him, so more often than not it turned into phone sex.

When Louis had finally gathered up the courage to invite his mother to the show, he'd bitten his nails down to the skin with worry, afraid that she would dismiss the invitation. When she had accepted it, Harry had been kept awake all night long reaping the benefits of Louis' good mood. Louis' mother was still a work-in-progress when it came to their relationship, but she was learning, and slowly but surely she was growing to accept them.

As for Louis' stepfather, as far as Harry knew Louis had only seen Nigel once since Jay had kicked him out of the house. Harry had been with him at the time, home for a weekend visit, and they'd been walking down the main street past a flower shop when Nigel had stepped out with a bouquet of petunias in his hand. They'd stared at each other for a few moments, all three men too shocked to forms words, until finally Harry had felt Louis' fingers thread between his own. Nigel had glanced down at the sight with a raised eyebrow, then silently stepped around them and made his way down the street. Louis and Harry had said nothing about the interaction. There was nothing left to say.

Harry could feel the pieces of their lives shifting into place. Louis was planning to apply for a position at the London College of Music to study music composition and, if he managed to secure a position, Harry had already discussed the possibility of them moving in together when it came time for Louis to move to London on a permanent basis. Their future seemed bright and Harry was ready to bask in the glow of it.

“Five minutes until show time,” a woman dressed in black called into the dressing room, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail as she walked into the room, grabbed a cable and stepped back out.

Harry crossed the room and stood beside Louis, staring at their reflections in the mirror. Louis was dressed in a red Adidas anorak and a pair of black jeans, opting for comfort, whereas Harry wore a sheer black shirt with a pair of cuban heels and trousers that were so skinny he needed help pulling them on. They looked like complete opposites, yet somehow they fit. It had always been that way between them.

“You ready?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Louis' reflection.

Louis nodded, then turned to face him, “Ready.”

At that moment, Niall appeared at the door, red-faced and filled with childish mirth,

“I just got yelled at by security,” he chuckled, “they thought I was a punter trying to sneak backstage. Can you believe that shit?”

“Yes I can, quite frankly, because you were supposed to be backstage with us the whole time but you were too busy gallivanting,” Louis said, hand poised on a popped hip, “so yes, Niall, I can believe that a security guard would find it ridiculous to believe that a member of the performing band would only _now_ be going backstage to accompany his bandmates.”

Niall made a snapping motion with his hand, “Nag. You're worse than Zayn, he said the same thing. Anyway, you guys ready? It's a packed house, gonna be schweet,” Niall looked up at Louis' face, then laughed, “Louis you look like you're about to throw up all over yourself.”

Sure enough, Louis' face was pale,

“I'm fine.”

Niall shook his head, smiling fondly before walking across the room to grab his drumsticks from the table, “Whatever you say. See you fellas out there, OK? Louis, please don't throw up, we can't afford a new piano.”

Niall's laugh echoed down that corridor as he walked away.

Harry set his hand on Louis' shoulder and squeezed, “We should probably head out there.”

Louis breathed, a long inhale and exhale, then nodded. Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth,

“It'll be fine,” Harry said, reassuringly, “you've got everyone out there cheering you on.”

A small smile ghosted across Louis' face, “I know.”

Harry returned the smile, then nodded his head towards the door, “Come on, let's go.”

With that, they both made their way down the corridor towards the stage.

 


End file.
